


Jinx

by phanjessmagoria



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanjessmagoria/pseuds/phanjessmagoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke is a minor YouTube sensation. Michael is the guitar-playing nobody who falls for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jinx

  
_Feels like I'm in a cartoon; Lovestruck, shot with a harpoon; Flyin' high as a balloon; and I ain't coming down_  
–

It probably didn't bode well that Michael saw him for the first time over the rim of his cup, which was filled with shitty beer—likely only purchased because it was cheap. He'd been dragged to the party by Calum, his best friend at school; it was at some guy named Ashton's house, and Michael had never met him. Judging by the questionable alcohol he provided, Michael was damn glad for that. He lowered the cup, so his view wouldn't be impeded by the red plastic.

Michael's first thought was that the guy looked like a _douchebag_. His hair was slicked up into a quiff and the only interesting thing about his face was that there was a lip piercing on it—sure, he was handsome, but how important were looks these days? Michael would put good money on this guy being about as interesting as a plank of wood. But he was surrounded by people, apparently deep in conversation with all of them, so he had to have some kind of redeeming quality. The longer Michael looked at him, the more familiar he seemed.

“Hey,” Michael tapped the shoulder of the person beside him—a quick glance over and he saw it was a girl he vaguely recognized from school—Morgan? Jordan? Something like that, anyway—and pointed to the unknown blonde toothpick. “Do you know that guy?”

Morgan-Jordan looked annoyed at being touched without permission, but once she saw it was Michael, she relaxed a little. “That's Luke. He's Ashton's cousin,” she said. She waited another moment, in case Michael decided to ask anything else, but when he didn't, she turned back to her group of friends. Michael finished off his beer, left the empty cup on the coffee table with about fifteen others, and headed over to Luke-Ashton's-cousin, mussing his purple hair as he did. Once he joined the small group of people around Luke, he realized that he didn't have any idea of what to say to him, or even why he was compelled to talk to him. It wasn't even like Luke was standing near a doorway that Michael could have conceivably wanted to pass through. No, he'd just walked over for no other reason than to be closer to this guy he didn't know. _Nice one, Clifford._

“Cool hair,” someone said, and it took Michael a moment to snap out of his self-deprecating reverie to realize that he was being spoken to. Everyone in the circle of people was looking at him, and a quick sweep of the group made it plain to see that Luke was the only one expecting a direct reply.

Michael, probably pretty impressively, managed to recover and respond, nonchalant. “Thanks.”

“Why purple?” Luke asked next, and already some people were turning away, no longer interested in Luke and whatever he'd been talking about before.

“Why not?” Michael replied, then berated himself—it always irked Calum when he answered a question with another question.

But Luke just laughed a little. “Fair point.” He looked Michael up and down, honing in on his empty hands. “I'm Luke. Want to grab a drink?”

Michael found himself saying yes, even though he wasn't sure about Luke just yet. “Ok, yeah. I'm Michael.”

They headed out into the backyard, decorated with some white Christmas lights strung up above their heads in random patterns. Michael did a quick survey of the yard to see if Calum was around, just in case he needed an escape route—but the yard was too dim to make anyone out clearly. Figures his “best friend” would drag him to a party where he knew exactly one person, and then that one person would abandon him.

“Ash puts all the good stuff out here,” Luke said, leading Michael across the yard, and past the keg from which Michael had filled his previous three cups. “But, like, hidden. He does it every time.” Luke led him to a small shed, then opened the door. Calum, Ashton, and a few other people, about half of whom Michael recognized, were sitting inside. There was a cardboard box centered between them with playing cards on it.

“You started without me?” Luke clutched his chest, faking being hurt by the slight, but he smiled too easily afterward for it to be legitimate disappointment.

“Couldn't tear you away from your adoring fans,” Ashton said, grinning. “You post a few videos on YouTube and next thing you know, you're Justin Timberlake.”

Michael caught Luke looking slightly embarrassed, before it changed to cocky. “I can't help it if I have the voice of an angel,” he quipped. Michael studied his profile, and it hit him—that was Luke _Hemmings_. He was popular with the girls at Michael's school because of the covers he posted online. He felt both stupid that he didn't realize it right away, and glad that he hadn't sunk as low as everyone else who'd been fawning over him—for no reason, really. He had a great voice but his guitar playing left _a lot_ to be desired.

“You guys both in?” Calum asked, picking up the cards and stacking them, then shuffling the deck.

“Yeah,” Luke said, squishing in beside Ashton on a wooden bench surrounded by garden tools. Michael shook his head. “Nah, I'm just here for the booze that doesn't taste like piss.”

Ashton snickered, gave Luke a look like he couldn't believe he'd bring someone back here who was _clearly_ a prick, then pointed to a cooler in the corner. “Help yourself, mate.”

Michael climbed over Calum, who pushed him along before dealing the cards. He opened the cooler and chose a bottle of beer that was nestled down below several layers of ice. There were some kids present who weren't playing cards, so Michael took a seat on a lawn chair as close to Calum as he could manage.

They weren't playing for money, like Michael had expected—just for bragging rights. They used poker chips that looked worse for wear, the edges rounded smooth from how many games had probably been played with them, and whenever Luke won—which was often—he whooped and gathered up all the chips. Michael tried not to let himself be too amused by this—the jury was still out on Hemmings, as far as he was concerned, even if everyone else in the immediate vicinity seemed to love him.

“Michael, play a hand,” Calum said, leaning back on the overturned bucket he was straddling and backhanding him on the knee.

“I'm good,” he said, shaking his head and taking a swig from his nearly-empty bottle of beer.

“He's afraid to lose,” Luke said, smirking at Michael from behind Calum. “Guy with hair like that? He likes to be the center of attention. He won't play 'cause he knows I'll win.”

A couple other kids who weren't playing either, but were just hanging out in the shed, chorused “Ooooh,” at the clear challenge Luke had presented Michael with. It was laughable, Michael thought, until that point. Luke was antagonizing him on purpose, yeah, but if he let it go now, he'd look like an asshole. Michael leaned over to the side to see around Calum, who had turned back to look at Luke. Luke met Michael's eyes, lips still curled up on one side, and Calum looked at Ashton; both of them were clearly amused at this turn of events.

“Oh, leave it, Luke,” Ashton said, nudging his cousin in the side with his elbow. “He just came back here to drink. Don't embarrass him.” Ashton snickered a little as Michael stood up, glad that egging him on had worked. He wasn't in the habit of just giving the good alcohol to people who didn't do anything to deserve it.

“I'll play,” Michael said, standing awkwardly for a moment before he turned and pulled his lawn chair closer. Calum moved, the rim of his bucket scraping over the concrete floor of the shed. “And I'll win, too.”

Luke kept his eyes on Michael's face even though Michael was no longer looking at him. He had leaned in closer to Calum, almost expectantly. After a moment, Calum picked up half of the chips he'd collected and gave them to Michael, then picked up the deck. He shuffled it a few times while everyone threw a couple chips in, then dealt the cards: first to Michael, then to the two other kids playing whose names he hadn't managed to remember, then Luke, Ashton, and finally himself. He went around five times, before depositing the deck back in the middle of the cardboard box, where the old, yellowing packing tape criss-crossed over it.

The six of them picked up their cards—one of the other boys scoffed and tossed his cards back down on the table. “Fold,” he mumbled, turning away to the other group. Michael ignored him—he had two pair, which wasn't the best hand he could have had but was better than nothing. He could work with this. He picked up another two chips and put them in the pile. The boy beside Luke did the same, as did Luke and Ashton. Calum grinned at them all.

“I'll raise,” he said, and grabbed four chips, piling them on top of the rest. The plastic clicked together as he did.

Not to be outdone, Michael added two more of his own chips to the stack. The boy to Luke's right huffed a sigh, debating what he wanted to do. His friend nudged him; they all turned to look at what was going on—apparently, someone had started a game of Spin the Bottle. Deeming this more interesting, he chose to fold as well, placing his hand facedown on the table. Both of them left the table, moving to sit on the floor of the shed and join the other group just as the glass bottle came to a stop.

Luke hummed quietly, then added two more chips, as did Ashton, who looked supremely calm about whatever his hand was.

Now that the four of them were still in the game, Michael sucked his lip into his mouth. He was holding two eights and two Jacks, so he really wasn't in the best position, but he chose the unmatched card (a Queen) from his hand and placed it down, drawing one replacement. He held his breath as he slipped it into his hand—and almost choked when he saw it was a third Jack. He had a full house—not a bad fucking hand.

Luke was watching him, nearly staring at him—he could tell something had just happened, though whether it was good or bad, well...he wasn't _that_ good at reading others. He looked down at his own hand—nothing. He had fucking nothing. He had three nonconsecutive clubs, but he couldn't count on getting two more from a random draw of the deck. He scowled—but was determined to stick this out. He chose the heart and the diamond from his hand, placed them down, and took two more cards. He was a little relieved to see that he'd drawn a Queen—at least he had a pair, now. But still. Useless. He leaned back on the bench, resting against the wooden wall of the shed.

Ashton considered his hand—he had the makings of a flush, like Luke, but he wasn't hopeful either. He decided to cut his losses. “Fold.” He put his cards down and leaned back like Luke—though he looked much more relaxed.

A gleeful grin was on Calum's face. He had no idea what kind of hand Michael or Luke had, but he knew what he was holding—and that was a fucking straight flush. It was beautiful. The luckiest hand he could have gotten—and on the first deal. He didn't even have to replace any cards. He honestly could have cried. Five hearts beaming up at him: a seven, eight, nine, ten, Jack. He was in love with this hand. “None for me,” he said, waving Michael along to bet again.

Michael glared at him—but he knew Calum well enough to know that he was about to win (which was definitely better than Luke winning) or that he was faking being happy to throw them off. Michael picked up another four chips and dropped them on top of the sizeable pile.

Luke did the same, though his scowl grew more pronounced, and the lines in his forehead deepened. He was pissed.

Calum, of course, matched their bets, and looked expectantly at Michael, who lowered his cards and placed them facedown on the table.

“Oh, wow, full house,” Calum chirped, too chipper to have just lost the game. Michael sighed and sat back in his lawn chair. “Luke?”

Luke resisted for as long as he could—he could see Ashton beside him, smirking, greatly amused at how Luke's ploy to fuck with Michael had backfired. He put his cards down, his measly one pair looking pathetic compared to Michael's three Jacks and two eights.

“Aw,” Calum said, trying to convey sympathy, though he didn't sound anything other than fucking ecstatic. “Well.” He put his cards down, and even Ashton's eyebrows raised when it was revealed that Calum had been dealt a straight flush.

“Good thing you don't have long sleeves on,” Ashton said, snickering. He gathered up the cards and began shuffling as Calum pulled the pile of chips over to his corner of the box. “Another hand, boys?”

But Luke was already standing up and stepping over him. “I'm good,” he said. “I'm gonna go mingle some more.”

Ashton huffed a laugh. “ _Mingle_ ,” he repeated, voice low, not acknowledging Luke further, even as he paused at the door. Michael glanced over at him, because it seemed like he was waiting for something—and he was a little surprised to see Luke giving him a pointed look. He jerked his head a little to the side, indicating that he wanted Michael to go with him. Before Calum or Ashton could ask if he wanted to be dealt in again, Michael stood up, almost knocking the lawn chair over as he did. He made it two steps toward Luke before he was turning around again, moving back to the cooler to pull out two bottles of beer.

“Take my chips, Cal,” Michael said, meeting Luke at the door to the shed (“You mean _my_ chips,” Calum muttered to himself). He wasn't sure why Luke had summoned him, but he was intrigued enough to follow and find out. Luke opened the door and the cool night air spilled into the shed around them; Michael almost felt like it pulled them out of the structure and into the open yard under the stars and strands of lights. He offered one of the beer bottles, and Luke took it, balling up part of his shirt in his fist to twist the wet, slippery cap off.

Michael imitated him, finding that the flannel of his shirt took the cap off better than just his bare hand. They both took a sip of their beers, but now they were just awkwardly standing in the corner of Ashton's yard, not even saying anything, so Michael broke the silence.

“I beat you.”

Luke snickered and shook his head, walking a little away from the shed; Michael followed. “We both lost.”

“Yes, ok, but my hand was better than yours, so I still beat you, at least.”

Luke took another swig from the bottle, looking at Michael out of the corner of his eye. There was a half-smile on his lips. “Do you want a medal?”

“Or a trophy, if you've got one. Maybe some kind of ribbon? What do they give YouTube stars?”

If it hadn't been for the dim light, Michael could have sworn Luke's cheeks reddened just a touch. Maybe he'd touched a nerve. Part of him felt kind of bad—but why should he? He didn't know Luke, so making a shitty joke at his expense wasn't exactly the worst thing he could've done.

“I'm not, really. I just like to play music.” Luke had led Michael over to a patio on the side of the house, away from the small clutches of people still standing around. The nearest group to them was sitting in a half-moon on the grass, passing a joint between them.

“Everyone at my school knows you,” Michael said, and immediately regretted it—he wanted to seem aloof, like he wasn't really aware of who Luke was, or what he did, or how big his following was. No, Michael didn't know how many subscribers he had, but if the way people gushed about his videos every time they were posted was any indication, it had to be in the thousands.

Luke didn't respond for a moment, instead putting his beer bottle down on the glass top of the table on the patio, pulling out one of the cushioned chairs for himself and sitting down. Michael waited a second, unsure if he was still welcome, but chose the chair opposite Luke for himself. He sat, facing him.

“It's cool,” Luke admitted, “all the attention and praise and stuff. But half the time people just want to talk to me to ask me to cover their favorite song, or whatever. That part sucks.”

Michael passed his half-empty beer bottle back and forth between his hands, the bottle's bottom edge rolling on his thigh. He wasn't sure how he felt about being part of the cliché where someone opens up to a stranger they met for the first time at a high school party simply because they both happened to be in the right place at the right time. So he just stayed quiet and let Luke keep talking.

“I like to sing, you know? And I like to play, too, but I'm not that great. I can kind of only play easy stuff. Otherwise I have to, like, use a karaoke version of the song.” He laughed. “That sounds pathetic. But it's true. Have—have you seen any of my videos?”

“Yeah,” Michael responded, but only because he'd been asked a direct question. “A couple.”

“Where I was playing guitar?”

Michael paused, shrugged, then spoke. “Yeah.”

“What did you think?”

In lieu of answering, Michael finished off his beer, then shrugged again, placing the empty bottle on the table with a _clink_. “I mean, I've heard worse.”

Luke groaned and let his head flop onto the back of the chair. “I suuuuuuuck. There's so many songs I want to cover but I could never.”

“You just have to practice,” Michael said, rolling his eyes a little, glad the strings of lights weren't over them in this spot, so Luke definitely wouldn't notice. “That's what I did.”

“You play?” Luke asked, suddenly alert again, head upright. He looked predatory, opportunistic.

“Yeah,” Michael said, reluctantly. He already knew what the next thing Luke was going to say would be, and he was already dreading it.

“Will you do a video with me? Just one.”

Michael hesitated. Just one sounded all right. He'd get some exposure—maybe he'd start his own channel. He almost snorted with laughter—yeah, that wouldn't happen. Despite what Luke thought, he actually hated being the center of attention and, if he agreed to do a video, would probably ask if he could just record his part offscreen.

“Please,” Luke implored, now leaning forward in the chair, his elbows resting on the table, hands clasped together—clearly a begging gesture. The longer Michael made him wait, the more anxious he became. By the time Michael spoke, he was bouncing a little on his seat.

“Just one,” Michael agreed, already regretting it.

* * *

  
_Got no, no chill around you; But I'm tryin', tryin' to play it cool; Don't want to rush it on too soon; I'm keeping you around_  
–

_I was thinking we could do it tonight_

Michael glanced over at his cell phone, reading the text from “Hemmo,” as Luke had christened himself in Michael's phone. Two weeks had passed since Ashton's party, and he and Luke had only exchanged a few texts, comparing musical tastes and schedules, seeing when they were available to record something. After not hearing from Luke for four days in a row, Michael had assumed that he'd either forgotten or changed his mind about playing a song together for Luke's YouTube channel, but nope. Michael should be so lucky.

Glancing at the top of the phone screen to check the time, he sighed a little to himself. It was just past 6 in the evening—not late enough to blow Luke off. He put his PlayStation controller down, picked up his phone, and tapped out a reply.

_aright just tell me where u live_

The reply came too quickly for Luke not to have been waiting for Michael's answer, and Michael sent _be there soon_ in response.

He shut off the PlayStation, pocketed his phone, grabbed his keys from the ash tray on top of his dresser, then pushed his bedroom door closed to get at his guitar case. It was always stowed somewhere he didn't need it, because more often than not, he was fucking around on his guitar, so it was always within arm's reach of his bed. He tugged at the strap of the case, the nylon exterior slipping easily out from beneath the pairs of shoes that Michael had inadvertently thrown in a pile on top of it.

Michael tossed the case onto his bed, before gently picking his guitar up from where it was leaning against his desk. With the sheer amount of love he had for the thing, he should probably have invested in a hard case and a stand for when he wasn't using it. He nestled the guitar into the case, folding it closed and zipping it up, before picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder, across his front. He pulled his phone out of his pocket again on the way out of his room, tapping on Luke's address so the Maps app opened up. He didn't live too far, even though Michael wasn't familiar with the neighborhood. It was a twenty minute walk, one he was fine with making because it gave him some time to consider exactly what song they should do. He stopped on the landing of the staircase, patting his pocket; finding it empty, he returned to his room for a pair of earbuds to wear on the way over, maybe letting him narrow the song search down a bit.

He tromped downstairs, trying to untangle the white cord of the headphones, and when he reached the last step, looked toward the door to the kitchen. “Mum, I'm going out for a bit.”

“Don't be home too late,” Karen called back, and he replied to the affirmative before heading out the front door. He plugged the cable of his headphones into his phone, pressing them into his ears. Another tap and all of the music on the device was set to shuffle. He wouldn't get through a ton of songs in twenty minutes, but it would still give him some direction, hopefully. He shoved his hands in his pockets and set off toward Luke's house.

By the time he arrived, he hadn't actually decided on a song in particular, but he had made the call that they were going to cover a blink-182 song. It seemed the simplest course of action—and he was hopeful that Luke could probably play one, if it came to it. 

Luke's house was two stories, too, but bigger than Michael's was. He stood at the edge of the lawn for a moment before heading up the walkway. He adjusted the strap of his guitar bag over his shoulder, then knocked a few times on the front door. A dog immediately started barking from somewhere in the house, but then it quieted and there was a pause. The porch light flicked on, and then the door opened. Luke's blue eyes were bright in the overhead light, and he grinned at Michael.

“Hey, come in,” he said, by way of greeting. Michael stepped over the threshold and past Luke, who took him by the elbow. “This way,” he said, pulling Michael over to his right. Michael could hear voices from somewhere to the left—Luke's family, presumably—but it seemed like he wasn't going to get to meet them tonight. Not a problem. He was just doing Luke a favor, after all.

Michael found himself led upstairs and to the end of a hall. Luke's room was painted white, which was boring, but he had a shitload of posters tacked up on the walls. Michael recognized the closet door and its poster neighbors from the background of Luke's videos (ok, maybe he'd watched a few more over the course of the last two weeks), so it was a bit surreal to be in this room now. Luke had closed the door behind them, and Michael looked around for a place to sit. Luke had opted for his desk chair, where his camera was set up in front of his computer. There was already a folding chair next to it, which Michael supposed was for him. He shrugged the bag off his shoulder and placed it on Luke's bed, unzipping and opening it.

He turned, guitar in his hands, to find Luke watching him.

“Uh,” Michael uttered, and Luke gestured to the seat beside him.

“You can sit here,” he said.

Michael nodded, then shook his head. “Can I just play from, like, over here, maybe?” He shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot, still by Luke's bed.

“What?” Luke asked, frowning.

“I don't really...like being on camera.”

Luke just looked at him.

Michael cleared his throat.

“You don't want to be in it?” Luke asked.

“Not really,” Michael said, shrugging.

“But—that's the point. We were going to play something together.”

Michael just shrugged again, and Luke pouted at him.

“Come on. Please? It'll be like you're a guest star.” He looked up at Michael from his desk chair, and Michael really wanted to resist, but something about Luke's puppy dog expression won him over.

He sighed, loudly, and trudged over, sitting heavily in the chair. “ _Fine_ ,” he said.

Luke beamed at him, then adjusted the camera. “What song are we doing?”

“I was thinking something by blink,” Michael said, already flexing his fingers over the fretboard.

“Awesome,” Luke said, glancing at him. “Which one?”

“Do you know how to play any?” Michael asked, eyeing Luke—he wasn't expecting an affirmative answer, but there was always the chance that Luke would surprise him.

“Yeah. Well, a couple. Sort of. Oh—shit, wait.” He stood up, leaving Michael waiting for the rest of whatever he was going to say. He reached over beside the desk and pulled his own guitar out, sitting back down and resting it on his lap. “We could do 'M+Ms,' right? If we played at the same time.”

Michael blinked—he knew the song, yes, but he had his doubts about whether Luke could actually pull it off. “Sure. Why don't we practice once first?” He scanned the desk in front of him and grabbed one of the picks that was on its surface.

“Works for me,” Luke said, nodding.

He wasn't actually as terrible as Michael had expected—maybe he'd planned suggesting this song the from the beginning, or maybe this was one of the few songs he'd played more than a handful of times and actually knew—but after three times practicing, he shifted a little in his seat, to face Luke.

“I think we're good,” he said, and Luke glanced up from his own guitar.

“Well, you are,” he said, smirking a little. “Loads better than me.”

Michael scoffed—it was true, but he didn't want to agree and seem like a conceited douche he knew he could be. He kept his reply neutral. “If you practice, you'll feel more comfortable playing. You'll feel and sound better.”

Luke strummed a chord, not looking away from Michael as he did. “So you admit I suck.” He was smirking, but this time it was different, almost a challenge, like when he'd basically called Michael out to get him to play that hand of poker.

“I never said that,” Michael said, keeping his voice calm for the most part, but unable to completely conceal the edge to it that creeped in.

“You thought it,” Luke said, and it was apparent from his tone that he was joking around, so Michael just shrugged.

“I won't admit to that either,” he said, and was relieved when Luke laughed, so he laughed too. Something about Luke's confident cockiness mixed with his self-deprecating humor sat right with Michael; he felt the same way pretty often.

Luke reached for the camera with one hand, holding his guitar by the neck with the other. He glanced at Michael. “You can talk and stuff, if you want.”

“I'm good,” Michael said, shaking his head.

Luke just snickered, hit record, and immediately fixed his hair. Michael watched him before realizing that he would be visible on camera too, so he looked into the camera, and then looked down at his guitar, because at least it made sense for him to do that.

Luke just grinned widely at the camera. “Hey guys! I'm here today with my new friend, Michael.” Here, he looked over at Michael, who glanced up at the camera, gave it a shy smile that looked more like a grimace, and lifted his hand, giving a brief wave. “We're going to play something together, obviously,” he said, holding up his guitar. “We're gonna cover a blink-182 song, hope you guys like it!”

It was easy for Michael to see why people liked Luke and his videos—he was cute as fuck recording this little intro, and he seemed genuinely friendly and as though he enjoyed it. Michael felt a bit uncomfortable, still, but he knew he was a skilled musician, so playing well was the least of his concerns.

Luke caught his eye and nodded to him, but Michael didn't begin right away.

“Does that mean I start?” he asked, and Luke laughed. Michael frowned.

“Yeah, you can start. Don't worry, I'll edit this out.” Luke moved his hands to prepare to play as well, even though his part wasn't going to be half as lengthy or important as Michael's.

Michael took a breath and began the song, his fingers quickly moving over the one string necessary for the intro.

It went pretty well...until Luke missed his cue to begin singing. Michael didn't stop playing, but he glanced up at Luke, who realized a beat too late he was supposed to have started already. He laughed and quickly stumbled over the words until he caught up to Michael.

So this was going to be one of _those_ videos. There were a handful on his channel; Michael had seen them. Luke usually marked them with a :P emoticon, which meant he fucked up in it but posted it anyway. Usually it was him forgetting or messing up the words. (Michael had only watched “Teenage Dirtbag (Cover) :P” but the explanation of the smiley face had been in the comments he'd scrolled through.) He wasn't really pleased about being in one of Luke's mistake videos, but that didn't stop him from playing the shit out of the song. At least _he_ wouldn't look bad.

They ran through the song, and Michael waited a second before silencing the strings of his guitar. Luke gave a big smile to the camera and waved before speaking. “Thanks for watching! I hope you guys liked it! Don't forget to give me a thumbs up—” he held both of his thumbs up, framing his face, then looked over and reached for Michael's wrist, forcing him to hold up his hand as well. Michael didn't want to seem like a prick, so he gave a thumbs up too “—and subscribe if you liked the video! I have my Facebook and Twitter links below, follow me if you want! See you soon!” He reached for the camera and stopped recording.

“We have to record that again,” Michael said immediately, even though he already knew Luke wouldn't want to. He was satisfied uploading a stupid :P video.

“No way!” Luke protested, just as Michael knew he would. “It's fine the way it is. The ones where I fuck up get a ton of views too,” he said, as though this mattered to Michael.

“Yeah, but—” Michael began, but stopped himself. It was silly to argue, really. It was Luke's channel, and it wasn't like Michael was ever going to be in any of his videos ever again. “Nevermind. It's cool. It didn't come out that bad, anyway.”

“It came out great,” Luke said, already connecting his camera to his computer to get started on editing the video. “Do you have a Twitter or Facebook you want me to link to?”

Michael gave Luke a look that was a mixture of confusion and apprehension, with a touch of disgust thrown in. The last thing he wanted was attention from this video. “Nah,” he said, choosing to be succinct to avoid any unnecessary questions from Luke.

Perhaps Luke could read that Michael preferred being in the shadows, so he didn't push it. He tapped the space bar on his computer and it whirred to waking, the screen blinking on and revealing Luke's desktop background: a photo of Good Charlotte circa 2003, complete with Benji's liberty spikes. Michael snickered—not because of the band, but because _that_ was Luke's wallpaper.

Luke looked back at him, then his computer, and seemed to realize what Michael thought was funny. He quickly opened up his browser. “They've been my favorite band forever,” Luke said, by way of explanation.

Michael shrugged. “They're a good band.” It was an innocuous comment, because Luke's homepage was his YouTube channel, and now that Michael actually cared to notice how many followers he had, he was getting a little more nervous of this video being posted. Because it was upwards of the “thousands” he had suspected originally.

Luke was sitting pretty with 48,576 subscribers.

Before, he'd had barely an interest in the numbers of views on the videos and had just picked out songs he knew (rather than songs he liked, because if Luke sucked, he didn't want to let him ruin them for him). Now, though, his stupid face was about to be seen by almost 50,000 people, and he didn't think he'd signed up for that at all.

But Luke wasn't even paying attention to Michel's reticence. He was scrolling through comments on his most recent video. After a couple moments of silence, he spoke, still scrolling. “Everyone at your school is gonna be talking about you after I post this.”

Michael scowled even more—that was the last thing he wanted. “Doubt it. It's your video, your channel. They won't even see me.” If he sounded a little hopeful, well, it's because he was.

Luke stopped reading through comments, shifting a little in his chair. “How could they miss you?” he said, looking over at Michael and smiling at him.

Michael, surprising himself, mirrored the expression back to Luke. If it made Luke look at him like that, he thought, maybe this YouTube thing wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

  
_Bluebirds fly around my head; Wet dreams swimming 'round my bed; Eyes closed, 11:11, hoping you will stay_  
–

Luke had uploaded the video on Saturday, the day after Michael had gone to his house. He'd texted Michael the link, but Michael purposely hadn't watched it—just the thought of seeing his face in 1080p made him anxious. Luke had been giving him updates on it via text, which he wasn't _ignoring_ as much as reading and then just...not replying.

He and Calum had made plans for the following Sunday afternoon—they were supposed to be working on a project for one of their classes but were actually just lying in Michael's room doing nothing. Michael's phone kept buzzing on his bedside table, and finally, Calum lifted his head from where it was resting on the carpet of Michael's bedroom floor.

“When did you get so popular?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I didn't,” Michael answered, forgetting to be offended by Calum's tone, and rolled half onto his side on his bed, snatching the phone from where it sat. “It's Luke.”

“Luke? Ashton's cousin? What does he want?” 

Michael hesitated in answering—he hadn't exactly told Calum about the video. It wasn't for any other reason than that Calum would undoubtedly want to see it and then endlessly tease him, because that was what best friends did, but Michael was in no mood for it, as irritated as he already was at Luke's incessant texting.

“We hung out Friday night,” Michael said, being vague on purpose.

Calum snickered. “Doesn't he know it's best to wait at least two days before texting after a first date? That way you don't get the wrong idea.”

“It wasn't a date, you ass,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “We recorded a video for his YouTube thing.” Better Calum find out from him than from someone else—except Calum immediately asked to see it, repeatedly.

Michael tuned Calum out—he was reading the multiple texts from Luke. Apparently the video was a hit, which—obviously. After finding out the number of subscribers Luke's channel had, he knew that it would be. But what he hadn't been expecting was the number of people who seemed to like _him_. If Luke's texts were anything to go by, a ton of the video's comments were about Michael.

“ _Michaelllllllll_ ,” Calum was whining, but Michael was too busy reacting to Luke's most recent text.

 _They love you bro. They want you to be in more videos_ , Luke had sent.

Michael's heart was racing—he didn't want to be on camera, but being with Luke held a certain appeal that he wasn't able to define yet, despite how nervous he felt about being in even one more video, much less several.

“Dude, can I watch it?” Calum asked again, now sitting up on the floor.

“Yeah, just—” he said dismissively, waving his hand at the laptop on his bed. Calum practically jumped up to grab it.

 _i dont know luke_ , Michael wrote, then sent a second message. _i think one was enough you know like i dont really like being on camera_

Michael watched as Luke began typing, then stopped, four different times, before he finally sent something. _I get it. But will you just think about it? Let's do something and we can just hang and play and maybe you'll change your mind_

 _maybe_ , Michael sent back, not really believing that he _would_ change his mind, but also knowing that if he hung out with Luke in person his resolve would crumble astoundingly quickly, as had been exactly the case so far.

_Cool. How about next weekend? We can just hang. No pressure_

No pressure. Possibly the most loaded phrase Michael had ever heard. _sure_

Luke sent a :P smiley, which Michael found to be in incredibly poor taste, before he heard Luke speaking from his computer—Calum had found the video. He waited a brief second, debating with whether or not he wanted to, then slid over closer to Calum so he would watch with him. Calum was grinning with what Michael interpreted as amusement at how totally fucking uncomfortable Michael looked.

He was relieved to see that Luke had kept his word and edited out the part where Michael didn't get that Luke wanted him to start playing. The video jumped right from the speaking introduction to Michael playing the beginning of the song. It felt just as awkward for him the second time around when Luke missed the cue.

“Dude, what?” Calum said, a hint of laughter in his voice, partially because of how put-out Michael looked as the result.

“He gets it in—” Michael began, just as Luke started singing. He gestured at the video to show Calum that he did eventually get it right, even though he could clearly see it. After Luke reached the chorus, he had to work pretty hard not to smile. He sounded good—they _both_ sounded good, together.

“It was all right,” Calum said, when it ended. Michael scoffed—he felt like it was Luke's best video yet, but that was probably because he had a competent guitar player with him. Calum scrolled down the page after the video suggestions popped up on the screen, but Michael honestly thought that if he actually _saw_ any comments talking about him he might throw up. He pulled the computer from Calum's hands and cleared his throat, pointedly looking away from the confused look Calum was giving him now.

“We have a project to do,” Michael said, and Calum guffawed before he realized that Michael wasn't joking.

–

Not being able to handle internet comments was one thing, but when Michael walked into school the next morning, he felt like every single pair of eyes was on him—even a few teachers were looking at him, though they kept their mouths shut.

He made it to his locker fine, but as he was entering the combination to the lock, a group made up of two girls and a guy appeared to his left as though out of nowhere. He saw them in his peripheral vision but didn't turn his head. One of the girls spoke to him anyway.

“Michael, right?” she asked, and Michael could hear the wide smile in her voice. He opened his backpack and glanced over at her. She was smiling, as he expected, and so were the two others with her.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, ready to blame Luke for this. He pulled some books out of his bag to stack in his locker for later classes.

“The video was so good. You're amazing on guitar,” the guy said, and Michael nodded to him.

“Um, thanks,” he said, giving a small, pained smile. He wanted this conversation to be _over_. He pulled a textbook out of his locker, zipped up his bag, and closed the door, spinning the lock again.

“Are you going to do any more songs with Luke?” the first girl asked again.

Michael slung his backpack over his shoulder, then shrugged. “Not sure yet,” he said.

“You should,” the second girl, standing in the middle of the trio, said, and Michael looked down at her—she was a several inches shorter than him. He could tell she was the most excited to speak to him: she was wringing her hands together and positively glowing up at him.

“I mean, maybe,” he said, mostly to appease her.

“That would be so awesome,” she gushed, as the guy nodded.

“It would,” he agreed. “You were great. A lot better than Luke.”

The second girl hit him in the chest with the back of her hand, but Michael lowered his face a little. The outright praise wasn't something he felt properly equipped to deal with, but he was smiling anyway. He lifted his face again and said, “Thanks.”

“Do you sing too?” the first girl asked, just as Michael felt an arm slink around his shoulders. He glanced nervously to his left—but it was just Calum. _Thank fucking Christ, Calum was going to rescue him._

“Remember our project, mate?” Calum asked, then looked at the three other students; the girl in the middle looked increasingly more put-out with each passing moment that Michael's attention wasn't on her. “Sorry for the interruption,” Calum said, though he didn't sound sorry. “We've just got to get to class.” As though he had timed this, the bell rang above their heads. “Bye,” he said, pulling Michael away by the neck. Luke's three fans turned to watch them go, then each went their own way, presumably to their own classrooms.

“Who were they?” Calum asked, as Michael shrugged his arm off of him.

“No idea,” Michael answered honestly. “You know people here are crazy over Luke. They must have seen the 'M+Ms' video.”

“Aw, he made you famous, dude,” Calum said, grinning, but Michael wasn't nearly as amused. He just shrugged his shoulders and led Calum into the room for the first class of the day, which they shared, and also for which their project was due. They hadn't even finished it.

“I'm glad you and Mr. Hood finally decided to join us,” the teacher said from behind her desk, straightening up as the two of them entered the room. Michael couldn't even be mad that she had scolded them in front of the whole class—because about a third of the students were looking over at him, which had never happened before in his entire life, not even when he had dyed his hair bright red. He wasn't moving, but Calum pushed a little on his backpack from behind him, and only when the teacher spoke again (“Please take your seats, gentlemen”) did Michael move.

He sat in the first available desk he came to, with Calum sitting behind him. Class began properly then, but Michael still felt like he was being watched. He leaned his elbow on his desk, and his chin on his hand, and looked over to do a sweep of the classroom. A few kids were still glancing over at him every couple seconds—how the _fuck_ did Luke deal with this?—and one of them even gave him a thumbs up from across the room. Michael looked back at the front of the room, and was fairly certain he paid more attention in this one class than in every other class he'd ever taken combined.

–

 _how the fuck_ , Michael texted Luke as soon as he got home from school, because he needed to know. He needed to know how Luke dealt with people constantly wanting to talk to him, or asking him questions, or just _looking_ at him. It was like a nightmare. Michael barely wanted to talk to Calum most days, much less random students from his school who'd never even give him the time of day before he did one stupid favor for Luke goddamn Hemmings.

He glared at his phone, eyes narrowed, willing Luke to reply, but he didn't. He didn't reply for a while, but when he did, Michael was fucking ready.

_How the fuck what?_

_im not doin another video with you_ , he sent, because after a few hours reflection on it, he knew definitively that he didn't want to have to deal with all the attention that came from being on a YouTube channel with so many followers.

 _What? Why_ Luke asked, and then sent another. _Let's just hang out this weekend and we can talk about it then_

 _no_ , Michael sent, and he was ready for that to be the end of the discussion. He hated that people knew him now—he was so much more comfortable hanging around with Calum and the few other kids that they were cool with. He didn't want all the attention being Luke's friend brought.

Again, Luke began typing and stopped several times before sending another text. Finally, Michael's phone buzzed in his hand, and he looked down to read what he'd said.

_Ok. That's fine. Can we still hang out though? We can be friends without youtube interfering right? Lol_

Michael considered it—he still wanted to see Luke, there was no escaping that feeling. It had settled itself into the pit of his stomach and whenever Michael entertained the notion of blowing Luke off, it flared up and made him rethink that decision altogether. If Luke would allow Michael to get away with only being in one video, and still want to hang out with him, then Michael would go with that. Absolutely. Fucking absolutely.

 _yeah ok_ , he sent, before sending another. _ill see you saturday ok_

Luke's reply came much quicker than the previous one. _Be here at noon_

–

For the first time in years, Michael had set himself an alarm on a weekend morning. He didn't think he would be late to Luke's without it, but also, he didn't think it would really _matter_ if he was. Despite that, he wanted to be punctual. Being on time potentially meant more time with Luke, and that was a good thing. Michael was a little annoyed at himself for feeling like that—what was Luke to him, at this present moment, besides a friendly acquaintance? He knew what a crush felt like, and he was annoyed that his body and his heart were betraying his brain. He shouldn't, couldn't, and wouldn't like Luke.

Convincing his subconscious to adhere to those three stipulations would be the problem, especially since the urge to see him was winning out over common sense. Liking guys was nothing new to him (the pining he'd done for Calum after they first met was now a joke between the two of them that turned into a sore subject when Calum harped on about it for too long in one go), but he had literally no reason to even consider that Luke might return any feelings for him. For all Michael knew, Luke was content in having tons of girls fawning over him at all times. He probably even liked it. Maybe it was the reason he'd started uploading videos in the first place.

Michael sighed as his alarm went off for a second time. He'd hit snooze when he first woke and then laid in bed, staring up at his ceiling and thinking about how liking Luke was about as terrible an idea as agreeing to record a song with him in the first place. Now, though, it was 10:54 and he had to get up, shower, dress, dodge his mother trying to feed him breakfast, and head over to Luke's.

After his shower (cold, because reasons), he pulled on a pair of black jeans and an old band t-shirt he'd cut the sleeves off of. Then, he changed his mind and pulled the shirt off, tossing it to the floor and pulling open each of his dresser drawers in succession before he found something he preferred.

Except he didn't find anything he preferred. He literally did not want to wear anything he owned. He knew it wasn't a date—like, really not a date, not even close, totally not even, at all—and yet he was still acting like it was. Which was immensely stupid. But Calum— _fucking_ Calum, the actual bane of his teenage existence—had texted him the night before and wished him luck on his “second date” with Luke, and now Michael couldn't get the thought out of his head, even though he knew Calum had just said it to fuck him up.

With a resigned sigh, he picked the sleeveless shirt up off the floor and pulled it on. At least it was one of his old All Time Low shirts—a band which Luke had a poster of in his room, so Michael knew he would approve. He tugged on an old jean jacket that had belonged to his dad, which he had improved (or ruined, in his dad's opinion) with patches, pins, and some hand-drawn art (his room had smelled like Sharpie markers for a whole day until he had the presence of mind to open a window to air it out).

He slung the cable of his earbuds around his neck, popped back into the bathroom to run his hands through his hair, which didn't neaten it as much as make it messier, but in a neater way, and then headed downstairs. Sure enough, his parents were waiting for him.

“Are you going out already, Michael?” Karen asked, frowning. “Let me make you something to eat before you go.”

“I'm fine,” he said, waving his hand at her as she went to stand up. “I think we're going to grab something.” He had literally no basis for saying this, because all Luke had done was tell him to come round at noon.

“Have fun,” she said, as he made his way to the front door. “Let me know when you'll be home.”

“I will. Bye guys,” Michael said, lifting his hand to wave goodbye this time. He pulled the door closed behind him and set off toward Luke's again, fixing his headphones in his ears.

This time, when he chose music to listen to on the walk over, he wasn't preoccupied about which songs he might be able to play, or which songs Luke could sing. He did, however, choose to begin his walk listening to “M+Ms,” which he told himself was just because he liked the song but was really because now it reminded him of Luke. This stupid crush was going to kill him.

When he arrived at Luke's this time, Luke was already outside, along with a guy who may as well have been a slightly more muscular doppelgänger. Michael squinted at them from the street, stopping walking for a second. They were packing a bunch of things into the backseat of a car—a cooler and some bags, mostly, but Michael could also see the neck of a guitar case peeking through the back window. Michael frowned at that, but he didn't have time to get properly annoyed that Luke was ambushing him with music because Luke had called out to him.

“Hey, Michael!” Luke said, waving at him. He tossed the bag he was holding into the backseat of the car and hurried over to where Michael was standing. He nodded to Luke in greeting.

“Hey,” Luke said again. “Awesome. I'm glad you're here.” Michael gave him a look—he'd said this as though they hadn't made plans to hang out today. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” Michael said wrapping the cord of his earbuds around his hand and then stowing them in his pocket. He was glad he was right about the shirt, for sure.

“That's my brother Jack,” Luke said, turning back to look at where his brother had emerged from the house again, this time carrying a surfboard.

Michael nodded. “He looks like you.”

Luke laughed a little. “That's what everyone says. But you'll see—next to each other, we totally look different.”

Michael looked at Luke for a moment, then at Jack, who had moved on to securing the board onto the roof of the car. “Pretty sure you're twins.”

Luke snickered and ignored this; he heard it all the time. “So anyway, Jack wanted to take a ride out to the beach,” Luke began, and Michael groaned internally—he hated the beach. But instead of protesting, he just nodded. Luke continued. “He said we could go, if you want. He'll be surfing the whole time, we can just hang out at the car and drink, or whatever.”

“Can we collect seashells?” Michael asked, smirking, and Luke chuckled.

“If you want.” Michael didn't respond other than to shrug, so Luke kept talking. “It's a little bit of a drive, but it goes quick. So...can we go?”

Michael didn't want to—but Luke looked so into the prospect of hanging out at the beach that he just nodded. “Yeah, sounds cool.”

–

Michael had decided by the time they arrived at the beach that he liked Jack. He seemed a little bit better at reading people than Luke did, so he mostly left Michael alone on the drive and didn't interrogate him, like almost every other elder sibling Michael had ever encountered in his life. The only indication he'd given that he recognized him came shortly after they left, when he caught the sun shining against Michael's hair through the back window of the car—Jack had done a double-take in the rearview mirror at the color. Michael had noticed, and pointedly looked out the window even though the sun was now shining in his eyes.

“Michael,” Jack had said, after Michael tried to duck his gaze. Luke introduced them, so he knew that Jack knew his name, but he was still expecting him to say something about the cover video that Luke had undoubtedly showed his family.

Michael hummed in response, not looking back, but when Jack didn't say anything else, he glanced over. Jack was holding a pair of aviator sunglasses out to him—apparently he was totally cool with Michael keeping quiet on the ride, and he was even enabling him. Sweet.

“Thanks,” Michael said as he took the glasses, unfolding the arms and putting them on. Luke turned around in his seat to get a look at him.

“Cool,” he decided, and after he turned back around, Michael kept his face turned to the window, trying to hide the smile now on his lips. Attention, Michael supposed, was all right, as long as it came from Luke.

When they reached the beach, Jack wasted no time in getting the hell away from his little brother. He parked the car, clambered out of it, unfastened his surfboard from the top of the car, grabbed his bag from the trunk, and practically took off running toward the sprawling sand and water in front of them. Luke and Michael stepped out of the car as well, though a bit less enthusiastically than Jack.

The sun was still pretty high in the sky; it was windy enough that the waves curling up onto the beach would be good to surf on—or so it looked to Michael. He had no actual idea about surfing or the ideal weather conditions for it, but Jack seemed thrilled. All he knew was that the sun was out, there was a breeze, and he was too warm in his jacket.

“Want to stay here?” Luke asked. He looked from Michael to the car, then opened the backdoor. “We brought a blanket so we can sit out there, if you want.” He nodded toward the beach.

Michael could tell that was what Luke wanted—so he nodded. “That's fine.”

Luke grinned at him, then leaned back in to the car. First, he removed the cooler, the contents sloshing around inside. “Beer,” he said, “and soda, I think.” He put it on the ground in front of Michael, then crawled a little further inside the car to retrieve the other items he wanted to bring with him. He held a blanket out for Michael to take, which he did, and then Luke gently pulled his guitar case out. He offered it to Michael, who hesitated.

“Just so I can carry the cooler,” he explained, and Michael deemed this an appropriate excuse, though he was still marginally suspicious. He slung Luke's guitar over his shoulder and held the blanket to his chest as Luke kicked the car door closed and then grabbed the handle of the cooler, hoisting it up and carrying it. Michael followed him, and he smirked a little to himself when Luke wobbled making the transition from paved ground to uneven, wavy sand. They could see Jack out on his surfboard, one of many pale dots in the large expanse of the blue water.

Michael walked behind Luke as he led him up the beach a ways, mostly away from the crowds of people packing nearly every inch of the shore. Once he reached a spot that was mostly secluded, he dropped the cooler and motioned for Michael to hand him the blanket. Instead of just giving it over, Michael unfolded it and help Luke place the colorful fabric on the ground. 

They both sat down, and Luke immediately shed his sneakers and socks, wiggling his toes before burying them in the sand. Michael wished Luke had given him some kind of heads up about where they were going. Jack had been in a bathing suit and Luke was wearing a pair of shorts—but Michael was stuck in his jeans and boots. At least he could take off his jacket—which he did, shrugging it off his bare arms and folding it beside him. He was still well aware that Luke had brought his guitar, and Michael felt like he knew exactly the reason for that—but he wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. That was probably exactly what Luke wanted.

“Want a drink?” Luke asked, snapping Michael out of his thoughts.

“Hm?” Michael asked, before he caught what Luke had asked. “Oh. Yeah.”

Luke held up a bottle of beer for him; Michael took it and used a balled-up portion of his shirt to twist off the cap, like Luke had done the night of the party when they'd met. Luke opened his own bottle, and they sat in silence for a few minutes before Michael turned his gaze from the water to Luke and discovered Luke looking at him.

Michael opened his mouth, but Luke spoke first.

“I know you don't want to, but I was hoping maybe I could change your mind about the videos.”

Michael scowled—and to his disdain, Luke laughed at his expression.

“I know the attention is pretty overwhelming at first,” Luke admitted. “But you're so good, and everyone really likes you. Actually, I think they mostly like your hair, but, you know, whatever.” He laughed, and Michael allowed himself a small smile. He liked Luke's laugh. He liked being something that made Luke laugh.

“It isn't really my thing, though,” Michael said, and Luke nodded.

“I know,” he said, implored, really—he wanted Michael to know he understood. “But you're so talented and it seems a waste not to, you know, let people see that.”

Michael wondered if Luke had planned this speech. He took a sip of his beer and said nothing.

“Why don't you want to be in any more videos, really?” Luke asked, hesitantly, as though he was afraid Michael would get up, go back to the car, and stubbornly sit there until Jack decided it was time to go.

“I don't like the attention,” Michael said. That was the truth—and really, the only reason why. He liked Luke, and he liked playing music, so a combination of both should have been the ideal—if not for the constant staring and relentless questions from his classmates. He had to be honest with Luke—it was the least he could do.

“You get used to it,” Luke tried.

“I don't want to get used to it.”

Luke sighed. Instead of agreeing with Michael or letting it go, he patted the guitar case. “Let's play something now.”

Michael rolled his eyes. Luke saw, and shifted himself a little closer to Michael on the blanket. “Come on. Let's play something, and if you still don't want to after that, I'll stop asking.”

Michael didn't believe that for a second, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Luke's, the deep blue of the ocean behind him only making the light blue of his irises seem even brighter. He could only agree. “Fine.”

Luke grinned, then bit the corner of his mouth, his lip ring disappearing beneath his teeth for a second as he pulled the guitar case closer, unzipping it. He handed the guitar to Michael.

“Do you know any Good Charlotte?” Luke asked.

“Like, two songs,” Michael said—which was being generous. He could stumble his way through a couple, but that was really it.

“Which?” Luke asked.

“Uh. I mean, I kind of know 'Seasons,' a little, and I guess 'Screamer?' I could probably get through 'The Anthem,' I don't know—” he said, and Luke interrupted him.

“'Seasons' is good. I know that one.”

“Do you?” Michael asked, and stuck out his tongue—then regretted it. He didn't have to be a prick to Luke, but he figured making Luke hate him was easier than getting over his crush.

Luke laughed a little, getting that it was a reference to how he titled his mistake videos, but it was unamused. “I do.”

Michael strummed a chord on the guitar. “Ok.” He situated his fingers where he thought they went for the song, and strummed again. It was wrong, so he tried again. “Bear with me,” he mumbled. “I haven't played this in a while.”

Luke nodded, leaning back on his arms, turning his face up to the sun. Michael glanced at him, eyes raking over his jawline, glad he was still wearing Jack's sunglasses.

After a moment, he tried to play the song again. It was still wrong. 

“Shit,” Michael said, putting down the guitar. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Luke. “Can you just pull the song up on there? I can't—”

But Luke was already taking the phone, swiping the lock screen away and navigating through Michael's music. After a second, Michael heard the beginning of the song. He rearranged his fingers, played along for a few bars, then nodded. “Got it.”

–

It was five hours later, and Michael still wasn't sure how Luke had gotten him to agree (though he suspected his jawline). They were in Luke's bedroom, Luke fiddling with the camera in front of them, Michael plucking at random strings on Luke's guitar.

“We're gonna spoil them,” Michael said, a last-ditch effort to get Luke to call this off. “Two videos of me in a row? They're going to think I'll be in all of them, now.”

“Nah,” Luke said, dismissively. Michael thought maybe he wasn't even paying attention to his protestations. After another moment, Luke sat back, the camera once again level and sturdy on its tripod.

“Ready?” he asked Michael, who just gave him a nod.

Luke hit the record button on the camera. “Hi guys! I've got Michael again,” he chirped, and Michael forgot he was on camera, forgot not to look at Luke the way he could only when Luke wasn't looking back at him.

* * *

  
_Fingers crossed when I kiss you; Knocking wood when I miss you; Acting like a teenage fool when you are with me_  
–

The video didn't go up for another week and a half.

Luke had said something about how he liked to “make them wait,” and while Michael understood the rationale behind that decision, he was actually glad Luke was waiting to upload it. He felt a little off about the video for some reason that he couldn't put his finger on yet; for the time being, he'd just chalked it up to nerves. A second video would make people want to talk to him even more—he'd just have to break the school's dress code and start wearing a hat or something to hide in.

“So I was thinking,” Luke said—he'd called Michael one afternoon. “I want you to come over while I upload it, and you can see all the comments and experience it firsthand, because it's fucking cool.”

“I don't know,” Michael said, mostly because unknown people talking about him made him nearly as anxious as unknown people talking to him. “Maybe.”

“Please?” Luke asked. “Besides, I have something I want to give you.”

Michael quirked an eyebrow, even though Luke couldn't see him. “What?”

“It's a surprise,” Luke said, and he sounded just a little embarrassed about whatever it was.

“All right,” Michael said, and Luke seemed to take this as confirmation that he'd come over.

“Cool! Come over now, I'm just finishing up editing. I'll upload it and then we can watch it.”

Michael swallowed, buying himself some time. Watching the video was something he had a vague interest in, but seeing Luke made that desire pale in comparison. “Ok,” he agreed, mad that whatever he felt toward Luke was _seriously_ clouding his judgement.

“Awesome,” Luke said. Michael could hear him tapping on a keyboard and the sound of their recording of the song playing faintly in the background. “I'll see you soon. My mum might answer the door—she knows you, so she'll just let you come in.”

“Ok. See you,” Michael said, hanging up the phone. He stared down at it for a moment. Luke's mother knew Michael? That meant Luke had, at the very least, shown her the video. Maybe Luke even talked to her about Michael. That was probably very, definitely good. At least, he thought so. He tapped the screen of his phone, brought up his text messages, and typed one to Calum.

_luke said his mum knows who i am_

Calum's reply was instantaneous. _and you still think you're not dating?_

Michael rolled his eyes. _were not dating im just saying if she knows who i am thats good right_

_i guess? i'm not really sure what you're asking_

Michael glared at his phone. _you talk about me dating him enough i thought youd realize when i fuckin like a guy_

_so you do want to date him?_

_are you serious rn._

The punctuation made Calum laugh to himself, just a little, as he texted Michael back. At first he honestly hadn't realized what Michael was asking, but now he was just messing with him on purpose. _you like luke?_

 _YES CALUM I LIKE HIM YES I WANT TO DATE HIM_ Michael was typing so hard he could actually hear his thumbs tapping on the screen of his phone.

_then yeah it's good his mum knows who you are_

_was that so hard_

_it kind of was, a little_

_goodbye calum_ Michael sent, and pocketed his phone. He needed to get over to Luke's, mostly to get watching this video out of the goddamn way so that they could hang out like proper friends. Maybe Luke would have him watch the video and then they'd do something that didn't involve YouTube.

He stood up from his desk chair and crossed to his bed to pull on his sneakers, tying them in double knots. He paused to check his phone again, just in case, but there were no new messages from Calum or Luke. He slipped it back into his pocket and grabbed a hoodie from the hook on the back of his door, shrugging it on before popping his head into the bathroom in the hall to check his reflection. His hair looked exactly as messy as he wanted it to, so he just zipped the jacket and walked downstairs.

After saying goodbye to his parents and assuring his mother that he would definitely eat dinner, he left and made his way over to Luke's. He didn't mind the walk, even though it was still a little warm outside with the sun hanging in the sky. He realized at the end of the street that he'd forgotten his headphones—but the walk wasn't that terribly long.

At least he thought. The twenty minute walk felt like it took at least forty without music to keep him occupied, and the anticipation of seeing Luke didn't help any. He finally turned onto Luke's block, heading up the walkway to the front door when he reached it. He rang the doorbell—he wasn't sure if Luke had told anyone Michael was coming over, so he didn't know if anyone would even notice if he knocked.

The chime had just faded when Michael caught a glimpse of a shadow moving past a window, then the door opened and a kind-looking blonde woman had opened the door. She smiled when she saw it was him.

“Michael,” she greeted him—and it was only because being greeted by his name by someone he had never met before had happened countless times at school that it happening now didn't even faze him. “Come in, come in.” She stepped back to let him in.

“Um, hi, Mrs. Hemmings,” Michael said, and he still felt the compulsion to introduce himself to her. “I'm—yeah, I'm Michael.”

“Of course you are,” she said, still smiling at him. “Luke's in his room. You know where it is, right?”

Michael could tell she was just asking as a courtesy—of course he knew where it was, because he'd been there before. Michael nodded and pointed at the stairs. “Last one on the right, yeah?”

“That's it,” she said, gesturing for him to head there. “Luke is just so happy you're doing these videos with him. He loved them before, but now they're all he talks about.”

Michael just nodded awkwardly—this was more information that he needed to run by Calum, because Luke! talked about him! all the time! “Oh, yeah, it's cool,” he agreed vaguely. “They're fun.” He nodded again. “I'm not used to getting mobbed at school yet, but, I'm really just doing it for Luke.” Why did he say that?

Liz smiled at him a little. “Well, don't let him make you feel like you have to. Do it because it's fun, or because you like it.”

 _Or because I like Luke,_ Michael thought, but he wasn't quite desperate enough to enlist assistance from Luke's mother just yet. “It is fun,” Michael said.

Liz gave him a knowing smile—and Michael tried to return it. “Get up there, then,” she said, nodding toward the stairs.

“Thanks,” Michael said, then turned and walked away. He glanced back over his shoulder at Liz, who gave him another smile before she went back the other way. Michael steeled himself and continued up the stairs, knocking on the last door on the right.

“What?” Luke asked, his tone making it clear that he'd been interrupted many times and wasn't happy about it happening again.

Michael twisted the doorknob and pushed it open. Luke sighed heavily, turning in his seat to glare at the intruder—until he saw it was Michael; then his face brightened drastically and he stood up, grinning.

“Hey!” Luke said, and Michael entered the room for real, pushing the door closed behind him. Luke pointed behind Michael, who looked—there was the folding chair from the last two times he'd come over, still there. “Grab that and bring it over. I'm just posting it now.”

Michael picked up the chair, carrying it over. He had to wait a moment for Luke to right himself—he was spinning the desk chair in a circle, lanky legs tucked up on either side of him. He grabbed the desk to steady the chair, and when he came to a full stop, Michael set his chair up beside Luke.

“How've you been? Did my mum let you in?” he said. Michael didn't know what to respond to first, so he just ignored the first question since he figured Luke already knew. They were texting a lot more often lately.

“Yeah,” Michael replied. “She's nice.”

Luke half-smiled at him—apparently he was glad Michael thought so, or maybe he was just glad his mother liked Michael.

“So, ready to watch? It came out great.” Luke said this like he was sneaking Michael information on some top-secret film that only he knew about.

“Um, yeah,” Michael said. He felt a little uneasy again at the prospect of watching it—and he was annoyed because he still couldn't figure out why.

Luke pulled up the video page—it was still stuck at 301 views, but Michael knew it had to have a lot more than that already. Before it began, Luke paused it, made sure it was playing on the highest definition, and fullscreened it. Then he hit play.

It hit Michael immediately why he was nervous about this video, and he blanched when he saw the intro. Because while Luke was speaking, Michael's wistful stare was blatantly caught on camera, recorded into a video that had been uploaded to a channel with 50,000 subscribers, that was probably being watched and shared and tweeted and holy fuck how had Luke not noticed this? Onscreen, Luke laughed at something he'd said—Michael didn't catch it and he didn't remember it happening at the time, but now Michael could hear that he'd positively _giggled_ at the joke Luke had made. Why had Luke not edited this out? Had he not noticed it, or...?

Or _nothing_. There was no way anyone watching this video could see it and not immediately know that Michael was crushing hard on Luke. Michael actually wanted to die.

He felt more than saw Luke turn to him when onscreen Michael started playing guitar, and Michael glanced back at Luke out of the corner of his eyes. He didn't look like someone who had just fucked Michael over on purpose—instead, he looked curious, like he wanted to know what Michael thought so far. Michael kept his eyes on the screen.

It sounded great—Luke had been right about that. It was definitely better than “M+Ms” if only because Luke remembered all of the words—but the slow tempo really helped to showcase just how full and strong Luke's voice could be. Michael had heard it firsthand but it still made his stomach flip, listening to Luke sing about how he knows they talked about it, but he just can't get around it.

The song ended and Luke went on his usual closing speech (Like! Subscribe! Love you guys!). Finally, he broke the silence in the room.

“So, what'd you think?” he asked, grinning—he genuinely wanted to know what Michael thought, and he was clearly proud of the cover they'd made.

“It came out great,” Michael said, voice quiet.

Luke didn't seem to notice. “It really did. You were awesome,” he said, refreshing the page. The hit count still showed 301, but there were already comments being posted. Michael caught a glimpse of one—“lol purple hair dude looks gay af for luke tho”—before Luke nudged his arm.

Michael glanced over at Luke, who had gotten up from his chair without Michael noticing. Now he was holding out both hands as fists toward Michael, who looked from Luke's hands up to his face. “What?”

“Pick,” Luke said, wiggling his hands from side to side and his eyebrows to match. “Your surprise is in one of my hands.”

Michael laughed a little—he'd used to play this game as a kid: Guess which hand it's in and you get to keep whatever “it” is. It was enough to make him forget, at least momentarily, about how he was “gay as fuck” for Luke, according to the internet. He shrugged, then pointed at Luke's right hand.

Luke hesitated, then stage whispered to him out of the corner of his mouth. “Pick the other one.”

Michael smiled, then pointed at the left.

“Nailed it,” Luke said, turning over his hand and opening it. Michael watched as he revealed what he'd been hiding—a seashell. He blinked, confused, then looked up at Luke, whose smile was fading a little. Michael didn't want to hurt Luke's feelings, so he picked up the shell. It was an abalone shell, orange-red, and it was still warm from being held in Luke's hand.

He didn't ask for an explanation, but Luke gave him one anyway. “The day we went to the beach, you said you wanted to look for seashells. We didn't get to.”

Michael turned his face up at Luke, who sincerely looked like he hoped to hell Michael remembered making the offhand joke or else he'd feel like a fucking moron. After a second, he did remember, and his face split into a grin. He looked back down, feeling like his cheeks were about as red as the shell in his hand, then back up at Luke, who was slowly, awkwardly, sinking back down into his desk chair.

“Thanks,” Michael said, meaning it. He definitely needed to run this by Calum, too.

“Sure,” Luke said, scrolling through the comments, but looking at Michael every couple seconds. “Maybe we could go again. To the beach.”

Michael looked at him, the comments on the video completely forgotten now. “All right. When is Jack going again?”

“Without Jack,” Luke said, quickly. “Just me and you.”

Michael squeezed the shell in his hand a little. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, ok.” He still hated the beach, but being with Luke pretty much trumped everything else.

Luke was facing the screen of his computer, but he wasn't scrolling anymore. Michael noticed, but he didn't think Luke even realized he'd stopped, because the next thing he said made Michael's breath catch.

“Like. As a date,” Luke clarified, his hand still unmoving on the computer mouse.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, and it seemingly enabled Luke to move again. He turned back to look at Michael, who continued speaking as Luke's small smile grew into a wide grin. “I'll find you a shell this time.”

–

“Who is this new friend you're spending all your time with, Michael?” Karen asked, pausing at Michael's bedroom door. He glanced over at her, shrugging.

“This guy named Luke,” he said, and he wasn't being cagey on purpose—he just knew that she was going to want Michael to invite him over.

“Luke,” she repeated, smiling. “Why don't you have him over for dinner one night?”

Bingo. Michael just nodded and finished lacing up his boots—it was a few days after he and Luke had made plans to go to the beach again, and he was getting ready to go. “Yeah, I'll ask him.”

“Where did you meet him? Through Calum?” She wasn't being nosy on purpose—she just knew Michael tended to be a little shy, especially at first, when it came to new people.

“Sort of,” he said, straightening up. “I met him at a party Cal took me to. He's Cal's friend's cousin.” He walked over to the door, grabbing his guitar case from behind it.

“And he plays music too?” Karen had a suspicion, since Michael had gone out twice in the past few weeks with his guitar.

“Yeah,” Michael said, packing his instrument into the case. “I mean, you know, sort of. He has this thing on YouTube...we're kind of making covers together.”

Karen's eyes widened a little bit, surprised that Michael would want to do something like that, but she just nodded before he straightened up and saw the expression on her face. “That sounds fun,” she said, and Michael nodded.

“Yeah, it's pretty cool.” Michael pulled the strap of the case over his shoulder and looked up at Karen, smiling. “I'll be back later.” He headed toward the door and Karen stepped aside to let him out, smoothing her hand over his shoulder as he passed her.

“Don't stay out too late,” she said, but they both knew it really just meant “Call if you need anything.” He had no curfew—perks of being quiet and trustworthy.

“Bye Mum,” Michael said, turning and grinning at her as he headed down the stairs.

Michael said goodbye to his dad, then headed outside. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it—there were two texts from Luke. The first one said _Are you ready_ and the second one said _Because i'm on my way_

He pocketed his phone just as a car turned onto his street. Michael walked to the curb and the car flicked its headlights at him, stopping directly across from him. Michael crossed to the car and opened the back door, placing his guitar beside Luke's, then rounded the vehicle and got into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” Luke greeted him, giving him a smile that was visible even in the darkness.

“Hey,” Michael echoed, clicking his seatbelt into place. Luke started talking almost as soon as his foot depressed the gas pedal.

“I didn't know if my dad would let me borrow the car,” he said. Clearly this worry was unfounded because here they were, in the car, but Luke was still talking. “I told them we were just going to the beach and we wouldn't even stay that late.”

“Oh,” Michael said, wondering if he managed to cover his disappointment.

“I mean, I was lying,” Luke said, laughing a little. “We can stay as late as you want.”

“Awesome,” Michael said, then pointed at the radio, which was off. “You mind?”

“No way, go ahead,” Luke said, lifting one hand off the steering wheel and reaching into the cup holder in the console between their seats, handing Michael an old iPod—the classic one, with the wheel on the front. Michael grinned—it was already connected to the car stereo with a cable, ready to play.

“I haven't seen one of these in forever,” he said. “I got rid of mine a while ago.”

“I have so much music on that thing,” Luke said, laughing. “It holds like 160 gigs, or whatever.”

Michael whistled lowly, impressed. “So what do you want to listen to?”

Luke shook his head. “Play whatever. I like everything on there.”

Michael wasn't even sure how that could be possible—the iPod had to have thousands of songs on it. He spun his thumb around the wheel, waiting for an artist to jump out at him—and he finally found one. He tapped the button, then chose an album, and “Helena” blared out of the car speakers. Luke adjusted the volume a little, then nodded, approving of the choice.

The car ride to the beach was a bit shorter than when they'd gone with Jack—at night, the beach was closed, and there was less traffic heading out there. Despite the lack of traffic, the ride would have felt shorter anyway—there was music playing this time, and they were singing along to every song. Michael was amused to see that Luke didn't just forget the words to songs when he was covering them; he also fumbled over the lyrics in a couple songs, but there was one he sang every word to perfectly. Michael made a mental note to play that again once they got to the beach—he wanted to hear Luke sing it with no heavy guitars or drums covering up his voice.

The album ended and there was a few seconds of silence as Michael scrolled through the list of artists again, before settling on blink-182 for the remainder of the ride.

The sun had long since set by the time Luke parked the car at the beach, and the moon was reflected on the water, waves rippling its double. Luke cut the engine and pocketed the keys, and the pair of them exited the car. They each took their respective guitars from the backseat—Luke grabbed the beach blanket this time—and headed toward the sand. There was no fence to keep them out, just a sign posted at the path that led down to the sand that the beach closed at sundown and no lifeguard would be on duty after hours. They ignored it, walking down the sand. Luke stopped a bit away from the water, glancing over his shoulder at Michael.

“This spot ok?” he asked, and Michael made an affirmative noise, not really caring where they sat. Luke unfolded the blanket and handed one edge to Michael; together, they spread it over the ground, then sat down. Michael pulled his guitar case off and laid it out behind him, and Luke did the same.

Michael sat, holding his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them, while Luke was more open and relaxed—he was leaning back on his hands again, legs splayed out in front of him, eyes closed. Michael was watching him, studying his profile. His skin looked like it was glowing, and part of him wanted to reach over and nudge Luke so he could see how blue his eyes looked in the cool light of the moon, but he resisted. Luke looked peaceful, and Michael didn't want to shatter that.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Michael was amazed that nothing about it felt awkward or forced—that gave him the courage to move one of his hands from its place around his shins and lower it so it was barely hovering over Luke's. He didn't know if Luke could feel the warmth from his palm or what, but he moved his hand just a little so that Michael fingers were resting on top of his. Michael looked at his face, but the only indication Luke gave that he even knew what he did was that his lips had turned up a little into a smirk that Michael could only see half of.

It was quiet except for the sounds of the waves rhythmically washing over the shore. Michael had looked away from Luke's face and turned to look out at the ocean. He could see distant lights on the water, likely from boats miles out. He tried to watch one for as long as he could, but after a short time the light disappeared over the horizon.

“Want to play something?” Luke asked, startling Michael. Luke laughed and turned his hand so it was face-up against Michael's—he was holding Michael's hand, squeezing it in apology, before shifting a little to more easily grab his guitar. He pulled the case closer and opened it, removing the instrument.

“Yeah,” Michael said, even though Luke's actions had made it obvious that that was what they were doing now. Michael retrieved his and sat so he was facing Luke, settling the guitar on his lap. “Hey,” he said, and Luke hummed in response; he was twisting the tuning pegs a little, plucking strings.

“Do you know how to play 'Cemetery Drive?'” Michael asked, watching Luke's fingers briefly before looking back up at his face.

“No,” Luke said, not looking up at him.

“Do you want to learn?” Michael said, a faint smile on his face.

This time, Luke lifted his head and nodded vigorously—Michael laughed a little at his enthusiasm. He knew Luke would want to—it was the song he'd sang the most confidently of all the songs on Three Cheers, the song Michael wanted to hear him sing by himself, with only the ocean backing him up.

“Ok,” Michael said, positioning his fingers. He nodded—Luke mimicked him. “So—you know how it goes, obviously, but it's a little different with an acoustic guitar.”

Luke nodded. Michael continued. “Watch me.” He cleared his throat, then started singing the song, playing along. He wasn't focused entirely on Luke, but he could see him watching how Michael was strumming the strings, moving his fingers on the frets whenever Michael did. At one point, when he was repeating “Way down” over and over, he looked up at Luke's face; he was still watching him, but his eyes were on Michael's face, no longer keeping track of the chords he needed to play. Michael gave him a small smile, but then looked back down at where his ankles crossed in front of him, keeping his eyes there until he finished the song.

“Why didn't you tell me you could sing?” Luke asked, then backtracked. “I mean—you're...really good.”

Michael just shrugged one shoulder. “I'm all right,” he said. “It's no big deal. You're the singer.”

“You could harmonize with me, though—we could be even better.” Luke put his guitar back into its case.

Michael wasn't sure when they'd become a “we” in the context of Luke's YouTube channel, but he was a little surprised at just how ok he was with it, at how he was even a little excited at the prospect. “I guess,” Michael found himself agreeing.

“Can you play it again, and I'll sing it this time?” Luke shifted a little closer to Michael. Now their knees were touching. “You can jump in on the chorus—and you should sing the 'way down, way down' part. I like your voice on that.”

Michael just nodded, he took a breath, then nodded to Luke to begin singing, starting to play right after. He almost lost track of what his fingers were doing right away—Luke's voice, as he had suspected, sounded beautiful on this song. Michael joined in where Luke wanted him to, even though he didn't know if it was really enhancing how he sounded at all, but Luke look pleased.

Michael's voice gradually got quieter at the end of the song, and he ended it early, even though he knew he had to sing “way down” a few more times. Luke looked disappointed, but he didn't say anything.

“You're really good,” he said, quietly. Michael nodded, then met Luke's eyes.

“Thank you,” Michael said.

“I think that should be our next song,” Luke said, unintentionally whispering.

“Me too,” Michael whispered back.

Without another word, Luke took Michael's guitar in his hands and placed it to the side, out of their way. Michael watched him closely (that guitar was his _baby_ , ok?), and when he looked back to Luke, he was much nearer than he'd been a moment ago. From this close, Michael could see just how bright and blue Luke's eyes looked—a crescent of the moon was reflected in his pupils, and he only had a second to marvel at them before Luke's eyes were closed, and Luke's lips were on his.

* * *

  
_Superstitiously, I'm watching my words, all of my words, now; Like a birthday wish, don't say it out loud; Never out loud, no_  
–

Michael bit his lip when Mali-Koa answered the door, not entirely pleased to see her. It wasn't that he didn't like her—it was that he always sort of _did_ , and she was entirely aware of it. A few years older than the pair of them, she'd always had a sort of aloof coolness about her that Michael had never actually wanted to find appealing but had.

So, really, Mali being present when he had come over exclusively to talk about the developments with Luke was like a cruel joke. 

“Michael Clifford,” Mali said, her smile just edging on a smirk. “It's been forever and a day, hasn't it?”

Michael just shrugged; he never really understood why she spoke like that. “Maybe a little less.”

She laughed good-naturedly and stepped back, letting him enter the house. He stepped past her and she closed the door. “How have you been? I like the hair.”

“Thanks,” he said, trying look around the room for signs of Calum. “I'm fine.”

“Calum told me you're on YouTube now,” Mali said.

Of course he did—Mali was a singer too. Michael knew she had a channel, but he'd never followed it closely. He just nodded in response to her statement. “Yeah, well, only sometimes. I'm just playing guitar for this guy.”

“I saw them,” she said. “They were good. You looked happy.”

“He just uploaded another one,” Michael said, in an attempt to get the focus off of just himself, and bring it onto Luke too. “'Cemetery Drive' by My Chemical Romance.”

“I'll have to check it out,” Mali said, before a loud shout of “Hey!” behind them made both she and Michael jump.

“Why didn't you tell me Michael was here?” Calum asked, his head poking out from the hallway. 

“Cool your jets. He just got here,” Mali answered, rolling her eyes at Michael before turning to face her brother, who had stepped out from the hall.

“Well, are you done harassing him?” Calum asked, but instead of being upset, Mali just laughed a little. The two of them fought just like any brother and sister—but Mali was at the age now where she had learned to let it go.

“Of course,” she said. “Michael, I'm releasing you from my clutches.”

Michael gave a short laugh, then walked over to where Calum was waiting. He lifted a hand in a wave to Mali-Koa, who smiled back at him as he left the room.

Once they were alone, Michael spoke first. “You told her about me playing guitar for Luke?”

“What?” Calum looked back at him, reaching a hand out to push the door to his room open. There was something wrong with one of the hinges, so the door always swung mostly closed. “No. More like she was being nosy.” Michael stepped into the room first, past Calum, who pushed the door fully shut this time. He didn't press for more information; he knew Calum would give it, he just had to be patient and wait.

“I was watching the new one—the Good Charlotte one—and she asked who was singing. I think she recognized his voice. And she just came in and saw it was you,” Calum finished, flopping back onto his bed. Michael kicked his sneakers off and sat on the old, ratty lounge chair that Calum had found outside on the curb one day, in front of their neighbor's house. His parents hadn't wanted to let it in the house, but Calum had insisted, and now it acted as a seat or temporary dresser drawer, depending on the day.

“There's a new one,” Michael said, nodding his chin at Calum's laptop. “He uploaded it last night, I think.” Normally Michael would never be so forthcoming, but spending more and more time with Luke was giving him more confidence. He felt more self-assured than he had in ages.

Calum eyed Michael, pushing himself up so he was no longer lying flat on his bed and was instead leaning against the wall beside it. “So like, you two are a thing. Like, a thing on YouTube, and a _thing_ , like boyfriends, now. Yeah?”

Michael resisted the urge to shrug, typically his default response to a question he didn't necessarily want to answer, and kind of nodded a little. “Yeah. I mean—we haven't really said it in so many words, but, yeah. We went to the beach last weekend.”

“And?” Calum prompted.

“And we hung out,” Michael finished, lamely.

Calum scowled at him. “ _And_?”

“We hung out and played some music.” He was going to leave it there, but Calum opened his mouth, so Michael just blurted the rest out. “And we made out and I got sand in places that I didn't even know I had on my body.”

Calum grinned, satisfied. “Good,” Calum said. “Because with how you looked at him in that 'Seasons' video, it was only a matter of time before you jumped the poor guy.”

Michael shook his head—even though Calum was probably totally right. “Shut up.”

“So, when are you hanging out again?”

“Dunno,” Michael said, reaching into his pocket and removing his phone—he pushed the home button under the pretense of checking the time but was really checking to see if Luke had texted him (he hadn't). “Soon, I guess.”

“For a date or for another song?”

“Man, I don't know,” Michael said, feeling his cheeks warm. “We've only been hanging out for like two months. One date isn't that big of a deal.”

“Fair enough,” Calum said, watching Michael; he noticed the tension in his shoulders. He pushed himself to his knees and then over to the edge of the bed, walking past Michael to where he had his classic Nintendo hooked up—it was the only console he deemed acceptable to play on the old TV set he had in his room. “Let's play something,” he said, handing one of the rectangular controllers to Michael, who sat up immediately and took it, grinning.

–

After another couple of weeks (and dates), Michael had finally relented to his mother's questions about Luke and whether he would be dropping by any time soon, even though Michael knew “dropping by” was mum code for “When are you inviting him over to dinner? I asked you to invite him for dinner. Please invite him for dinner.”

Luke had agreed almost instantly—he'd even been pretty excited about it. He showed up at exactly 5 in the evening, just when he'd been told to, and Michael had nearly goddamn swooned when he opened the door to let Luke in.

Because Luke was apparently under the impression that Karen was not just inviting Luke for dinner, but expected him to dress up—he was wearing a pair of black jeans (which was normal), but over it had on a black button-down shirt. It was a bit rumpled at the bottom, as though he'd tried to tuck it in but then changed his mind.

“H..hey,” Michael finally managed to say, a little distracted by how _nice_ Luke looked in comparison to himself (black jeans, band t-shirt complete with some holes, knit beanie with purple strands peeking out of the sides and back).

“Hey!” Luke said. He offered a bottle of wine to Michael. “My mum made me bring this. I don't even like wine.”

They'd made it through dinner relatively unscathed, but Karen did tell Michael to take off his hat. He wasn't all that pleased about it—the purple dye had begun fading long ago and the current color wasn't too flattering in his opinion.

“I think I want to dye my hair again,” Michael said, later on. He and Luke were in his room, sitting on the small loveseat. It had been there forever—a spare piece of furniture from the living room set his parents had replaced years ago—but Luke liked it. He would have liked it anyway, but Michael never gave him the choice of sitting on the bed, like he was afraid he would jump him, just like Calum had said. (This may have actually been the case).

“What color?” Luke asked. As soon as they'd escaped to Michael's room, he'd pulled the hat back onto his head, while Luke took his usual place on the loveseat. He patted the space next to him for Michael, who also assumed his usual position: reclining over Luke's legs.

Michael shrugged, his shoulders pressing into Luke's thigh. “I don't know yet.”

Luke lifted one hand and pulled the beanie off Michael's forehead, too quick for Michael to clamp his hands over it and keep it on his head.

“Gimme it back,” he whined to Luke, who put the hat on instead of listening to Michael's request. He lowered his hands again, one of them resting on Michael's stomach, the other threading through his hair. Michael may have been shy when it came to meeting people, but now that he and Luke were together, he was more than happy to accept physical affection from him.

“I like this color,” Luke said, glancing quickly up at the door to make sure it was closed. Michael had told his parents, hurriedly as the two boys cleared the table, that Luke was his boyfriend. Karen looked as though she would have approached the evening entirely differently if she knew that information beforehand, but only told Michael pointedly that he had to keep his bedroom door open when, as she knew Michael would want, the two of them eventually disappeared upstairs. The door was, technically, still open—there was about an inch of space between the door and the jamb.

“I don't,” Michael said, frowning up at Luke, who didn't stop moving his hand through Michael's hair. 

Luke shrugged—he would be happy either way. “When do you want to?”

“Maybe before our next video,” he suggested, and Luke nodded.

“That'll be good,” he said, shifting his hips a little beneath Michael's back—the position wasn't too comfortable for him, but he liked having Michael close to him, so he dealt with it.

“What song should we do next?” Michael asked, not even noticing Luke moving.

“Something new,” Luke answered. “We've just done old stuff so far.”

“Maybe something kinda quick. The last two were pretty chill.”

“Ok, so. New, fast, something we both like...” Luke looked around the room for inspiration, but Michael beat him to it.

“How about All Time Low?” he asked, pushing himself up off of Luke's lap to sit beside him.

Luke grinned; they hadn't even named any songs yet and he was already excited. “Yes! Yes, that's perfect.”

“What about 'Don't You Go?'” Michael asked, and Luke just nodded, his grin growing even wider.

“That'll be so fucking good,” Luke said, beyond excited now.

“We can both play,” Michael said, moving to stand up before stopping himself, so he was sitting beside Luke instead of on top of him. “But—we can practice another time, right? I kind of just want to...” he said, trailing off, but looking at where they were sitting on the couch. He didn't have to say it—Luke knew that he just wanted to hang out like a regular couple, not one that was popular on the internet.

“Yeah,” Luke said, pulling Michael back over to him, sparing the door another glance before kissing Michael's neck just below his ear.

–

_Come over friday after school. My mom and dad are going to the beach to camp out with jack and ben or something and i said i didn't want to go so we'll have the house to ourselves_

Michael had read the text at least five times before he even got the presence of mind to reply. He was with Calum during their lunch break, and he showed him the text. Calum managed to get out half an “Oooh!” before Michael backhanded him on the shoulder.

“He probably means for the new video,” Michael said, but holy fuck, he hoped he was wrong. The two of them had been dating for over a month and they'd barely done more than make out, with Michael's mother always on the lookout and Luke's house always brimming with his family members (Ashton had walked in on them once, with Michael's hand down Luke's pants, and he was pretty sure he'd never be able to look at Luke's cousin the same way ever again).

“Or for fucking,” Calum said, winking at Michael, who turned away from him and typed a reply to Luke.

 _yeah ok thats good itll be quiet for the video_ He sent it without showing it to Calum first, even though he leaned over to see what the message said after it was sent.

“You seriously need to learn to use periods, dude,” Calum said, as Luke's reply appeared on the screen.

_Yeah! Totally. And we can just hang out the two of us too obviously lol_

This time, Calum completed his drawn-out “Oooh!” uninhibited, because Michael was too busy biting his lip and going over every possible meaning of that text message.

Michael answered, _sounds good_ and looked at Calum. Luke wouldn't be the first guy he'd fooled around with, but it was definitely his first serious thing and he didn't want to fuck it up by making assumptions about what they'd be doing after they recorded the video.

Calum seemed to sense his worry; he snickered and quipped, “Just hide the condoms in your guitar case. He'll never find them in there.”

–

Michael would never tell Calum, but he totally hid the condoms in his guitar case. There was a pocket inside the top that he supposed could be used to hold picks or slides or whatever, but right now, it was a condom pocket.

 _i gotta run by the store before i come over so ill be there later i guess_ Michael sent to Luke. He made it halfway down the stairs when his phone vibrated against his leg; he pulled it out of his pocket and checked it.

_I'll drive you when you get here. What do you need to get?_

Michael licked his lip, then replied. _hair dye_

Luke's reply made it clear how excited he was. _You picked a color?! What is it?! Or do I have to be surprised because if that's the case then i hate surprises_

_if you drive me to the store it wont be a surprise i guess_

_Ok. Change of plans. I'll come get you. Stay there. Don't move_

Michael laughed and pocketed his phone, then continued down the stairs. He had a few more minutes before Luke would get to his place, so he took his guitar case off his shoulder and laid it on the couch, sitting down to wait. He scrolled through his Twitter feed (because Luke had made him get a Twitter, obviously) while he waited.

He was sure that his mother was going to walk by at any moment, but she didn't—Michael wasn't actually sure where she was, and he was glad. She knew he was going to Luke's, but not that they would be alone there—and that was information she could fish out of him with a couple of well-worded, well-intentioned questions. When Luke's dad's car pulled up outside, Michael stood up so fast that he made it to the door before he realized he'd forgotten his guitar. He grabbed it and ran outside, slamming it behind him and quickly fumbling to lock it just in case his parents weren't home.

“What color?” Luke shouted from across the street, but Michael just gave him a grin and put his guitar in the backseat before climbing into the car beside Luke.

“You'll see,” Michael answered after he shut the door.

“If I guess, will you tell me?”

“Maybe.”

“Red,” Luke asked. Michael shook his head. “Blue. Blonde. Black. Pink?” Luke asked, sounding more desperate each time as Michael kept shaking his head. “Did I get it and you're just not telling me?”

“No,” Michael asked, laughing. “Take a left up here,” Michael said, pointing. The store wasn't too far, but it was in the opposite direction from Luke's house, so Michael directed him there.

“You can wait in the car,” Michael said when they turned into the lot, but he was smirking because he knew Luke wouldn't have any of that.

“No way,” he said, pulling into the first spot he saw and parking there. “I would literally die of curiosity.”

Michael just laughed and headed toward the store, with Luke trailing behind him. 

“Are you dyeing it red, like, ginger hair?” Luke asked as Michael pulled the store's door open.

“No,” Michael answered, and headed over to the hair dye. There were a ton of colors to choose from, both natural and unnatural—and those were the ones Michael was interested in. He scanned the shelves, then picked up a box, and Luke snorted at the color. Michael glanced over at him. “Yes?”

“We're doing an All Time Low video. Are you trying to _be_ Alex Gaskarth?” Luke asked, still smirking.

Michael just smiled a little. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe I just like teal.”

“Well maybe I like teal too,” Luke retorted, his smirk softening a little into a regular smile.

“Then maybe you'll like it on my head,” Michael said, laughing.

“Maybe I will,” Luke said, voice low, and he stepped closer to Michael, kissing him softly on the lips, then pulling away quickly—Michael wasn't big on PDA at all, and if Luke had lingered against his mouth, Michael would have been the one to move away.

Michael was smiling a little after Luke broke the kiss, but he angled his face down to read the back of the box he was holding. He looked up after a moment. “This one's good.”

“Let's go,” Luke said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

Michael laughed and reached for Luke's hand; Luke let him take it and they walked over to the cashier together. The girl, whose nametag read “Violet,” smiled at them as they approached.

“Did you find everything ok?” she asked, still smiling but sounding bored.

“Yeah,” Michael said, laying the box on the counter and tugging his hand from Luke's to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “Thanks.”

Violet picked up the box, scanned it, put it in a plastic bag, and took the proffered money Michael was holding out. “Here you go,” she said, handing him his change and ripping off the receipt as it printed. She stuck it in the bag, then handed that to him too. “That color will look good on you, though I'm kind of partial to purple.” She laughed. “Have a good night.”

Michael finally returned her smile. “Thanks, you too,” he and Luke said at the same time, and she gave them a small wave as they exited the store.

“How long is this going to take you to do?” Luke asked.

“A while, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “We'll have time to do the video after.” They definitely would, even if it was late, because Luke's house would be empty. “Have you been practicing?” Michael asked this, tone suspicious.

“ _Yes_ ,” Luke replied, indignant, even though he was sure that he probably hadn't been practicing as much as Michael. 

“Good. You can practice some more while I do this,” he said, jiggling the bag, the box inside making the plastic crinkle audibly.

Luke huffed and rolled his eyes, but laughed, unlocking the car. Michael glanced to be sure his guitar was still in the backseat—he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was, even though there was no evidence of anything untoward. They climbed into the car and Luke drove back to his house.

“I figured we could order a pizza for dinner,” Luke said as he pulled into the driveway and glancing over at Michael as he shut the car off but didn't move.

“That sounds perfect,” Michael said. “Such a good boyfriend.”

Luke laughed a little—they were still in the beginning stages where referring to each other as “boyfriend” made them embarrassed and nervous. “Shut up.”

“You're a good boyfriend,” Michael said again, not as nervous when he was the one doing the teasing—he enjoyed flustering Luke. “The best boyfriend _ever_.”

“I hate you,” Luke mumbled and opened the car door, but Michael could see he was grinning.

Michael laughed and exited the car, grabbing his guitar and slinging it over his shoulder before following Luke up to the front door. Once they were inside, Michael could tell Luke wasn't used to being alone in this house—almost every light was on, and his shoulders were held a little higher than normal.

“You ok, man?” Michael asked, following Luke to the living room. He deposited his guitar on one end of the sofa. Luke nodded.

“Yeah—just, they even took Molly,” he said, laughing. “I'm all by myself here until they get back.”

“Is that why you wanted me to come over?” Michael smirked—he wouldn't be offended if that was the case. He might poke a little fun at Luke for being scared, though. “You missed your dog?” Michael couldn't even blame him if that was the case—he'd met Molly, and she was precious.

“What? No. No, I—well, maybe a little, but really, we can just do the video and dye your hair and hang out. I...You know, I know how you like it to just be us. I like it too. So...now it's really just us.” He offered Michael a shy smile, like he was unsure of how this explanation would go over.

But Michael just smiled back, nodding. “I do like just us.” Luke's smile became a little more assured—until Michael continued. “Boyfriend.”

“Oh my god!” Luke said, laughing. He hit Michael on the shoulder repeatedly and they both laughed until Michael pulled Luke to him for a kiss. It was almost impressive the way that Michael felt the tension leave Luke as their bodies pressed together.

After a moment they broke apart, and Michael squeezed Luke's side. “You order the pizza, I'm gonna go start bleaching my hair. Do you have—shit, I should have brought a towel from home.”

Luke bit his lip. “We probably have an old towel.” He shrugged. “I'll look.”

“And it's cool if I use your shower, right?” Michael called after him, eliciting a response of “Yes!” from Luke, who had disappeared upstairs.

After a couple minutes, Luke reappeared, holding a towel that did look a bit worse for wear. “You can use this one. It was at the way back of the closet—I doubt my mom would even notice if it went missing.” Michael took it and nodded.

“Should I use the upstairs bathroom?” he asked, and Luke shrugged.

“Wherever you want.”

Michael took the towel and the box of hair dye with him, taking the steps two at a time. He turned left into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, studying himself in the mirror, trying to imagine himself with what would undoubtedly be the brightest hair color he'd ever had. After a minute's reflection and saying goodbye to his purple hair, he pulled his shirt off and dropped it onto the countertop beside the sink. He also pushed open the shower curtain—for now, he'd just rinse the bleach from his hair in the shower, but later he'd actually need to wash it.

In the middle of applying the bleach to his hair, Luke knocked on the door. Michael debated telling him to come in—he hadn't locked the door, and he couldn't say that he looked any more ridiculous than usual with his hair sticking up at all angles—when Luke spoke. “Pizza'll be here in like ten. I got pepperoni on half of it, is that ok?”

“That's fine,” he answered, still trying to squeeze bleach from the bottle onto his hair, making sure he got it everywhere. The pizza would be at the house in ten minutes—and Michael's hair had been purple when he applied the bleach, so he figured he would need to leave it in for at least the amount of time it would take them to demolish their dinner.

He exited the bathroom a few minutes later, leaving it in exactly the same condition it had been before, except for his crumpled shirt on the sink and the ripped hair dye box on the floor. He descended the stairs and found Luke sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling on his phone. He glanced up and grinned at Michael. “Cutest boyfriend ever,” he said, and Michael felt his cheeks warm.

“Shut up,” he said as Luke raised his phone to point the camera right at him. “Don't—” Michael said, but he heard the shutter click.

“I won't post it anywhere,” Luke said. “You just really do look cute.”

Michael moved to sit across from Luke—as the doorbell rang. “I'll get it,” Michael said. “Are we splitting this?” He reached for his wallet again, but Luke shook his head.

“My mum left me money,” Luke said, handing him a few bills. Michael grinned and took them, then walked to the door and opened it. The delivery guy blinked at his hair and state of undress, then held out the pizza. Michael paid him, said “Thank you,” and closed the door behind him. He returned to the kitchen, where Luke had retrieved paper plates and glasses for them. There was also a bottle of orange soda on the table, of which Luke had poured himself a glass.

“We have root beer too, I think,” Luke said, looking back at the fridge, then crossing to it and pulling out the half-empty bottle.

Michael opened the box and grinned. He looked at Luke. “Which piece do you want?”

“I'll take a cheese one first,” he said, sitting back down in his seat and looking up at Michael, who served him a plain slice. He took a large bite as Michael got himself a pepperoni piece, and then sat across from Luke.

“How long does that have to stay in for?” Luke asked.

“I'll rinse it after we eat,” Michael said, keeping it vague because he wasn't sure of the exact time.

“And the dye?”

“Half an hour,” Michael said, shrugging. In three bites, he'd already eaten most of the slice of pizza he'd taken. He left half the crust on the plate and picked another piece, taking a bite before even putting it down on his plate.

Luke snickered—he was still on his first piece. “I think I may have underestimated just how much you like pizza.”

“Probably,” Michael said, laughing a little and wiping sauce from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I will never like anything or anyone as much as pizza.” He put the slice down to pour himself a glass of root beer. “Sorry.”

Luke shook his head, biting a piece of crust in half. “Hey, I get it.”

He picked up his phone and took a picture of Michael with the piece of pizza mid-bite. Michael watched him, still chewing the bite he'd just taken. After Luke put his phone back down, Michael's buzzed in his pocket. He frowned, already anticipating what Luke had done, and glared at the screen. He saw a tweet notification from Luke; when he pulled it up, he glared at Luke instead of his phone.

It was a photo of Michael, shirtless, in all his bleachy hair glory, stuffing his face with pepperoni pizza, captioned “Michael likes pizza more than me :(”

“Come on,” Michael said, looking at replies that were already being posted in response from Luke's fans and followers.

“It's cute,” Luke said, grinning. He was scrolling through the replies too—he ignored the ones asking for a follow or what the next song would be and focused on conversational ones. “Aw, look. This person says we're a cute couple.”

Michael picked up his pizza again—he was getting some mentions from Luke's followers now too, but he didn't really know how to respond to them, so he just never did. “Do people know that we actually are a couple?”

“No, but it's probably not that hard to guess. I mean—take right now, you're sitting shirtless in my house,” Luke said, shrugging. “We're together all the time. Like half of my Instagram pictures are of you.”

“You're smitten,” Michael said, finishing off his second slice. He considered a third, but changed his mind—they could always eat more later, but right now he had to rinse his hair. “I'll be back.”

–

Rinsing his hair of the bleach had been the easy part, as had snooping for a hair dryer (normally, Michael would let it air dry and apply the dye whenever he felt like it, but now he had to consider that every moment he was up here in the bathroom, was a moment when wasn't with Luke, and that wasn't acceptable).

He stuck his tongue out as he applied the dye to his hair in the mirror. He was good with the top, front, and sides, but his mum had always helped him make sure he got everything in the back. He sighed after trying various contorted poses, then wormed his hand out of the blue-stained glove and opened the door.

“Luke?” he called downstairs. He expected a reply, but instead, Luke appeared on the stairs. He snickered a little at Michael's head, but approached the bathroom.

“What's up?” Luke asked, entering the bathroom as Michael stepped back.

“Can you just help me make sure I got the back good?” He tried to put his hand back in the glove with no assistance, but ended up having to use his other, still-gloved hand. A streak of hair dye got on his inner wrist, but that was the least of his worries.

“Yeah,” Luke said, moving his hands to Michael's shoulders and turning him so he could better see his hair in the light.

Michael bent his head forward and lifted the squeeze bottle again. Luke took hold of his wrist and moved the nozzle to a spot near the nape of Michael's neck. Michael squeezed some dye, working it into his hair. They continued as such for a few more minutes until Luke deemed Michael's hair well and truly dyed.

“Now what?” Luke asked, stepping back out into the hall.

“Now I wait to take a shower and you practice more,” Michael said, stuffing the used gloves and bottles back into the hair dye box. He followed Luke downstairs and Michael tossed the box into the garbage pail in the kitchen, not wanting to leave it in the bathroom and make it smell like chemicals and bleach.

“Can I use your guitar?” Luke asked, already heading into the living room where Michael had left it.

“Mhm,” he answered, not paying attention. Luke had left the pizza box on the table, so Michael snuck over to it and grabbed a third slice to bring with him while Luke worked on his part of “Don't You Go.”

Michael took a bite as he heard the case unzipping, and then after a moment, Luke strumming a few chords. He began the song proper, playing the smaller and (truthfully) easier part that Michael had taught him. Michael took another bite of his pizza and meandered into the living room. Luke was perched on the arm of the couch, legs crossed in front of him, as he played. Michael watched him, nibbling his pizza as he did, and Luke glanced up at him, smiling.

“How does it sound?” he asked, still playing. He'd gotten better since Michael had met him, and he wasn't cocky enough to think it was all his doing, but he still felt proud of Luke for improving.

“Good,” Michael said, nodding. He crossed over to the couch and sat in front of Luke, offering him the pizza. Luke took a bite, laughing a little, still playing.

Michael scooched backward and sat with his back against the other arm of the couch, legs bent at the knee in front of him, and watched Luke, as he sang the words softly to himself. After a couple more times running through the song, Michael had long since finished his pizza. He waited until Luke was looking down at his fingers on the fretboard, moving over the strings carefully, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He snapped a picture of Luke this time, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes closed. He uploaded it to Twitter, being sure to tag Luke in it, and captioned it “practicing for our next song”

He closed the app before he had to see the retweets and likes he would get just by tagging Luke, and put his phone aside.

“Hey,” Michael asked, shifting a little to make absolutely sure there was no risk of getting any hair dye on the couch, “one more complete run-through then I'm gonna go wash my hair. Sing it this time.”

Luke looked up at him, nodding. “Ok.” He took a breath, then started playing from the beginning of the song, singing too.

Michael watched him, tapping his right foot along to Luke's playing, nodding with him. He sang softly, mostly just throwing in the high-pitched “Woohoo”s and “Whoa”s where appropriate; mostly because each time he did, Luke gave him a smile.

“I think we're all set,” Michael said, standing up after Luke finished. “Sounds like you've mostly got it.”

“I think so,” Luke agreed, putting Michael's guitar back into the case and zipping it. “I'm gonna go up to my room—just come in there after you wash your hair, ok?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, and this time he led Luke upstairs, turning into the bathroom while Luke continued on to his room. Michael closed the door behind him, stripping off the rest of his clothes and turning on the shower.

–

The water stopped running teal after a wash and a few rinses, so Michael rinsed it twice more to be thorough, then shut the shower off. He opened the curtain and leaned out of the tub to grab the old towel, drying his hair with it before even leaving the shower. He laughed after he lowered the towel from his head—definitely good that Luke had given him an old one. 

He pulled his underwear back on, then tugged his shirt back on over his head, admiring how he looked in the mirror with his bright teal hair. He folded his jeans and tossed them over his shoulder, then left the bathroom and crossed the hall to Luke's room. Luke was sitting at his computer.

“Where should I put this?” he asked, lifting the towel again to go over his hair one more time—it wasn't really wet anymore, but he figured one more once-over with the towel wouldn't hurt.

Luke swiveled in his chair, and his eyes widened when he saw Michael's hair. Completely ignoring the towel question, he stood up, still eyeing him closely, then reached up and took the towel from him. “You look really good,” he said, voice low but still enthused.

Michael let him take the towel, but the way Luke was holding his gaze didn't really leave much room for interpretation. Luke threw the towel into the corner of the room where a laundry basket was, full of worn clothes waiting to be washed.

“Did you...want to run through the song one more time?” Michael asked quietly, suspecting Luke's answer even as he gave it.

“Not really,” Luke said. Michael glanced behind him—his computer was off, the camera not set up as usual.

“Ok,” Michael said, looking back at Luke, who leaned into Michael and kissed him, not as soft as at the store or in the living room earlier; it was a kiss that meant that Luke clearly wanted to go somewhere with it, which Michael was _totally_ fucking cool with.

He shrugged his shoulder so the jeans would fall to the floor; after they did, Luke pulled him over to his bed, which hadn't been made, straightened, or turned down, but was (now that he was looking) conspicuously empty of any clothes as well as their guitar cases.

Maybe this was the reason Luke had wanted him to come over. Michael considered it for a second as Luke climbed onto his bed and pulled his shirt off, motioning for Michael to follow. Michael watched as Luke tossed the garment to the side, and decided he was totally cool with it, if that was indeed the reason. He crawled onto the bed toward Luke, kissing him again as soon as he was close enough. Luke cupped Michael's face in his hands and leaned back, moving Michael on top of him; he went willingly, not resisting nor wanting to. It was about damn time they'd gotten a chance to actually touch each other, with no risk of anyone barging into the room and interrupting.

Michael lowered his mouth from Luke's lips to his chin, then to his neck, kissing him softly there, lips brushing over his collarbone as Luke reached around Michael's back, trying to tug his shirt up as well. He got as far as Michael's shoulders, but because Michael was holding himself up above Luke, hands on either side of him, Luke had to stop working the fabric up. Michael straightened up, kneeling over Luke, and removed his shirt himself before settling himself back down. Michael was half on top of him, one leg between Luke's, as he kissed him again, almost lazily—but Luke wouldn't let him. Every time Michael's lips slowed down, Luke hurried him again, slipping his tongue against Michael's or biting on his lower lip to entice him to speed things up.

Luke pressed his hips up against Michael's thigh before he finally just reached down between them and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down around his hips. Michael left his lips against Luke's shoulder and moved his leg, giving himself room to lower his hand to cup Luke through his underwear; he was already half-hard, and his cock seemed to stiffen further as Michael rubbed his palm against him. Luke ran one hand through Michael's hair as Michael moved his hand inside of Luke's underwear, taking hold of his cock and stroking it until he was fully hard. Luke sighed softly and spread his legs a little, lifting his hips up into Michael's hand.

Beneath him, pressed between his body and Luke's sheets, Michael's dick was hard too, half because of the noises Luke was making and half because he might have been rolling his hips against the bed. He sucked Luke's collarbone and sighed against his skin as Luke licked his lips.

“More, Mikey?” he whispered. Michael glanced up at him, then let go of his cock and pushed himself up, settling back on his knees beside Luke. His cock was straining a little against his underwear, but he made no motion to touch it, instead just leaning down to kiss Luke's stomach. He let his right hand trail over Luke's chest, and his left resumed working over Luke's cock, slowly, trying to draw out more whimpers and moans from him. The tip of Michael's nose brushed the short hair below Luke's bellybutton as he teased one of Luke's nipples with his right hand, rubbing and rolling it between his fingers as he just barely flicked his tongue over the base of Luke's cock.

A loud sigh escaped Luke's lips, and he lifted his hips again, looking down his body at all of the ways Michael was touching him. Michael stopped moving his left hand, his right still pulling gently at Luke's nipple, and glanced over at him, smirking. Luke licked his lips before Michael lifted his head and then lowered it again, his lips around the head of Luke's cock. Luke groaned as Michael sucked him, cheeks hollow and lips dark pink around him. He watched as his cock slipped further into Michael's mouth each time he moved back onto it, and as Michael kept his fingers teasing the bottom of his dick, pressing into the underside each time he teased the slit in the head with his tongue.

“Fuck, Michael,” Luke whined, closing his eyes for a moment until he realized he'd much rather be watching this beautiful boy down between his legs. Instead, he moved one hand to Michael's arm, where his hand was splayed out on Luke's chest, gripping it tight as Michael pulled off of him and licked a long stripe up the underside of his dick before taking him right back in again, sucking the head, twisting his hand around the rest of his length. Luke swallowed thickly—he could feel his abdomen tightening up, feel his thighs tensing, and he squeezed Michael's arm. “I'm gonna—”

Michael pulled off of him, but kept his hand moving. “Do you want to finish in my mouth?” he asked, and it wasn't that he said it in any particular way, or even looked particularly debauched, but Luke nodded vehemently because Michael's pink lips were shiny and wet, just like the head of his dick, and Luke wanted it very, very fucking much.

With barely a second's hesitation, Michael leaned back down over Luke (who lifted himself up on his elbows to make absolutely sure he could see) and took his cock back into his mouth. He sucked the head, stroking what wasn't in his mouth with his hand. Luke whimpered softly until he finally felt the tension in his lower body release, and Michael swallowed around him, sucking the head of his cock until Luke relaxed back onto the bed, his breathing a little bit accelerated.

Michael pulled off of Luke as he leaned against his pillows, smirking down just a bit at his boyfriend—whose eyes were closed, so he couldn't even see him. Michael crawled over Luke and settled down on his other side, so he'd be next to the wall and not the edge of the bed.

Luke opened one eye and peeked over at Michael, who was subtly tying to palm himself through his underwear. Luke opened his other eye and this time, noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He barked a laugh at Michael's apparent impatience with his refractory period. “Want me to take care of that?”

“Yes please,” Michael answered, moving onto his back and lifting his hips so he could push his underwear down. He kicked them off as Luke rolled off the bed; his pants were still half on, so he took the rest of his clothes off and then moved back onto the bed beside Michael.

“I kind of wanted to ask,” Luke began, and waited for Michael to look at him before continuing, “if I could...finger you.”

Michael's hand had been creeping down his body to stroke his cock, but when Luke asked that, he stopped dead, mouth opening slightly of its own accord. “Really?”

“Uh, yeah,” Luke asked, lifting one hand to smooth the back of his hair from where he felt sure it was sticking up.

“Then yeah,” Michael agreed, now even more fucking into this than he had been before—and Luke seemingly matched his enthusiasm.

“Awesome,” he said, sliding off the bed again and moving over to his desk drawer. He opened it, pushing some things out of the way before he returned with a small bottle of lube.

Michael quirked an eyebrow and nodded at it. “Got that just for me?”

Luke's cheeks reddened and he shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, but not specifically for tonight.” He climbed back onto the bed, moving over so his knee was against Michael's side, his thigh against Michael's hip. “Or like, specifically ever. I didn't know if—you know what, I don't have to explain myself or my lube decisions to you.” He laughed; so did Michael.

“So, should I turn over?” Michael asked after a moment, moving a little away from Luke so he could roll onto his side.

“Yeah, I guess?” Luke said. He opened the bottle, but looked at Michael right after and closed it. “Have you done this before? Because I haven't. You're the first guy I've—” he said, but Michael cut him off.

“I have. Don't worry about it. I'll talk you through it,” he said, and pushed Luke away a little to give himself more room. Luke shifted away and Michael rolled onto his knees—though he stayed kneeling for a minute so he didn't give Luke a bird's eye view of all of him right away.

“Just go slow,” Michael said—he figured he'd give him the basics. “One first, I'll tell you when you can use two. Ok?”

Luke nodded, and Michael leaned forward, biting the inside of his cheek as he did. He spread his legs—glad that he was actually the experienced one here, because otherwise he'd feel exposed and awkward. But for once in his life, Michael had the upper hand.

For a brief moment, just after Luke settled back behind him, he didn't do anything—and Michael felt pretty sure he was going to declare this way too fucking gay and suggest doing something else. But then he felt Luke's hands on either of his ass cheeks, and Michael mentally gave himself a high five.

“It won't hurt you, right?” Luke asked, voice small, and Michael just shook his head.

“Not unless you do it too fast,” he assured Luke. “I'll tell you to stop if I need you to.”

Michael heard the bottlecap click open again, and after a moment, felt the tip of Luke's finger against his hole. He smiled a little to himself—he fucking loved this—as Luke slowly circled his hole with his finger, rubbing against it. Michael hoped he was as intuitive as he was careful—he pushed against Luke's finger to indicate he wanted a little more; sure enough, Luke took the cue and angled his finger a bit differently, letting the tip move inside of Michael.

A sigh fell from Michael's lips as Luke gradually moved his finger further in, stretching Michael around him slowly. “That's good,” he mumbled, mostly so Luke would know he wasn't totally fucking it up, “but you can go a little faster.”

Luke followed the instruction, pulling his finger out and moving it back in; his right hand was still on Michael's ass, but he slid it over to his hip, thumb rubbing his skin a little bit there. Michael closed his eyes, squeezing down on Luke's finger. When he did, Luke stopped for just a second—but then resumed what he'd been doing.

“Use two now,” Michael said after a short time, and Luke paused.

“More lube?”

“No, you're good,” Michael said; he could tell just by how slick he felt that Luke had used plenty for just one finger. He whimpered softly when he felt Luke's second finger move beside the first one, pressing against the rim of his hole before finally moving in. Michael groaned Luke's name as he continued with the slightly quick pace he'd used before.

Luke almost didn't ask, but his pride compelled him to. “Is it good?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Michael replied, moving his knees a little further apart. It was mostly the truth—Luke wasn't terrible at it, but he still had a lot to learn about the right way to finger a guy. Michael would have to teach him—but next time. His cock was already hard, the head bobbing every now and then against his stomach, and he balanced himself on one hand to reach back and grab Luke's hand from his hip. “Jerk me off.”

Luke did—this he knew how to do, at least. He wrapped his hand around Michael's cock, spreading the precome over its length and pressing his thumb against the head. Michael groaned, tightening around Luke's fingers again, but this time, he didn't pause or stop moving them, he just kept fingering Michael's ass as he stroked his cock. Michael lowered himself to his elbows for better balance, especially since he could feel himself getting close.

“Luke, Luke—” Michael whispered his name each time Luke's fist neared the head of his cock, more precome leaking out of him each time. Luke parted his fingers a little bit inside of Michael, and the stretch paired with Luke's thumb curling around the head of his cock pushed Michael over the edge—he came with Luke's name still on his lips, hands balled into fists and his hole clenching around Luke's fingers.

“Shit,” Michael sighed after his body relaxed; he pressed his face into Luke's pillow for a second—smiling at how it smelled like him—before wiggling his hips so Luke would remove his fingers. He rolled onto his side and Luke looked down at him, wiping his hand off on the sheets.

“Good?” Luke asked, and Michael just nodded, reaching for Luke's wrist to pull him closer.

“Good,” Michael answered, pulling Luke close and kissing him again, one hand moving up to Luke's head, mussing the hair he'd so meticulously tried to neaten minutes before.

Luke, however, didn't notice or mind—he was too preoccupied with the way Michael's dick felt against his; he could tell they were both slowly getting hard again, or maybe they'd just never gotten soft. With his lips still against Michael's, he experimentally tried something: He moved his hips in a circle against Michael's, resulting in a soft sigh from him against Luke's lips.

“What're you doing?” Michael whispered, but Luke just did it again.

“Dunno,” he answered, coy.

“You want to go again?” Michael asked, grinning against Luke's mouth; Luke grinned in return.

“Maybe,” he said, but it definitely sounded more like a yes than something ambiguous.

“Maybe,” Michael echoed, amused. He kissed Luke one more time and pushed himself up onto his elbow, looking over Luke for his guitar case—of course it was there, as Luke said he was bringing it upstairs, but Michael wanted to be sure before he ended up having to traverse Luke's house naked to find it. “I brought condoms.”

“You did?” Luke asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Michael said. Luke smirked, and Michael repeated what Luke himself had said earlier. “Don't give me that look. I don't have to explain myself or my condom decisions to you.”

Luke laughed, but it trailed off as he moved one hand to Michael's side, tracing his fingertips over his ribs. “So you want to have sex?” he asked, not meeting Michael's eyes.

“If you want to,” Michael said. “If not, that's cool too.”

Luke looked down between them—there wasn't actually much space between their bodies, but he could see they were both still turned on. Michael waited patiently for Luke's answer, eyes not leaving his face. When Luke looked back up at him, he nodded, smiling shyly. “Yeah, I want to.”

Michael's smile split his face, and he climbed over Luke, moving to his guitar case. He opened it, felt around in the pocket for one of the condom's he'd brought, and returned to the bed.

“They were in there the whole time?” Luke asked, laughing a little.

Michael just shrugged and tossed the condom onto the pillow beside Luke's shoulder. “Wishful thinking.”

Luke pulled Michael in for another kiss as he climbed on the bed, making his movements a little awkward as he tried to move over Luke without kneeing him in the dick, but finally he was able to sit next to him, resting on his knees.

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but Michael cut him off. “I just need you to get to three fingers,” he said, looking around beside himself for the bottle of lube. “Then I should be good.” He handed the bottle to Luke.

Luke nodded, and Michael gave him one more kiss before he leaned forward again, resting on his elbows right from the beginning. Luke opened the bottle again, squeezing some lube onto his fingers. He started with one, which Michael knew wasn't necessary but appreciated since Luke was following his instructions, and quickly got himself to two. Michael felt too tight to even take any more—but he scissored his fingers a couple times, remembering the reaction that had elicited from Michael earlier, and then tried adding a third. Michael whimpered as Luke used three fingers to stretch him for his cock.

Michael let him continue for a bit, until he knew he could take Luke. He hummed softly, then spoke. “Ok. All right, I'm good.” Luke pulled his fingers out slowly, then leaned up, resting one hand on Michael's back to grab the condom. He pressed a kiss to Michael's shoulder before resuming his position behind him. He tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom on, then stood on his knees behind Michael.

“Ready?” Luke asked, and he wasn't entirely sure if he was saying it for Michael's benefit or his own.

“Yeah,” Michael said, turning his head a little to watch Luke out of the corner of his eye. He caught Luke chewing his lip ring nervously before he noticed Michael watching; then he gave him a small smile and lined the head of his cock up with Michael's stretched hole.

Michael bit his lip in anticipation—and when the head of Luke's cock pressed against him and finally fit in, he groaned softly in relief. Luke moved into him slowly, like he was desperately afraid of hurting Michael—but Michael loved it. He sighed again when Luke bottomed out, his full length deep inside of him. Neither of them moved for a moment, but then Luke pulled back out of him, pushing back in with an urgency that he didn't seem to fully grasp yet. Michael was hot and tight around him, and Luke fucked him slow and deep. He knew he wouldn't last very long—not with how his dick felt with Michael squeezing around him, and certainly not with the way Michael whispered his name every time Luke pushed back into him.

The way Luke was fucking Michael was _literally killing_ him. His cock felt impossibly hard and heavy between his legs, so he moved one of his hands to relieve himself a bit—but touching it just wound him up more. He felt like he was practically panting Luke's name every time the front of his hips rested against his ass for a moment before pulling away again. He jerked himself off quickly in contrast to how Luke was moving into him. He was so fucking close—he could feel himself tensing up. He kept his hand moving over himself as Luke sped up just a little—until Luke unintentionally snapped his hips forward into Michael.

Luke had been moving back into him just as Michael had squeezed down on him, and Luke's hips just jerked forward without him even thinking. Michael groaned, loudly, beneath him, coming again, and this time, the tightness around Luke became so intense that Luke couldn't help but come too. He lowered his upper body, folding himself over Michael and pressing his lips to his shoulder again as they both rode out their orgasms. Michael finished first, but didn't do anything to even suggest to Luke that he wanted him to move. It felt nice having his boyfriend so close to him—inside of him, around him—that he didn't really want Luke to pull out.

Luke nuzzled Michael's shoulder for a moment before straightening himself up, pulling out of his ass slowly, groaning a little as the pressure on his dick receded and finally was gone altogether. He removed the condom and tied it off, putting one hand on the small of Michael's back and saying “Be right back,” before climbing off the bed to run down the stairs and stuff the thing into the bottom of the kitchen garbage pail. He glanced at the kitchen table, smirked—then washed his hands and grabbed another slice of cold pizza for himself. He walked back upstairs to his room to find Michael lying regularly on the bed now, though slightly on his side. He perked up, though, when he saw Luke had pizza.

“Is that for me?” he asked, smiling wide.

“No,” Luke said, closing his bedroom door behind him and ambling over.

“Then where's mine?”

“Downstairs,” Luke said, smirking as he took a bite.

“Dude,” Michael said, sounding as offended as he possibly could. Once Luke took his place beside him on the bed, Michael leaned in, mouth open—and Luke gave him a bite, appeasing him. “Thank you.”

Luke took another bite—then looked over at Michael, who gave him a smile. They were both mid-chew, but Luke smiled back and leaned over to give Michael a peck on the lips.

–

“Hey guys!” Luke was beaming into the camera, sitting closer than usual to take up most of the frame. He was recording the intro to the video, the next morning. They'd both decided it was better to wait until they were both showered, rested, and looked like they hadn't just fucked to cover the song.

Michael had just put on his same underwear and jeans, but borrowed an old Good Charlotte t-shirt from Luke after they'd showered (together). Michael was sitting on the folding chair, most of his body hidden by Luke's. He played a chord from the song on his guitar.

“Mikey stayed over last night and we dyed his hair,” Luke continued, pretending to lean away to give the viewers a look at Michael, but then moved back into place, still blocking the lens' view of him, and laughing. “How do you guys think he looks?” He still didn't move to the side.

“They can't see me,” Michael said from behind him. “They can just see your stupid face.”

“Oh yeah,” Luke said, and shifted his chair to the side, back and out of the way. The camera refocused on both of them after a moment, and Michael waved at the camera.

“Hey guys,” he said, and Luke smiled at him. Michael rarely spoke to the viewers, so Luke was always happy when he did.

“I think you look great,” Luke said to Michael, who looked over at him.

“Oh, thank you,” he said, laughing.

“So anyway, today we're going to cover 'Don't You Go' by All Time Low. Oh shit, one second,” Luke said, abruptly standing up from his chair.

“You forgot your guitar,” Michael said.

“I forgot my guitar,” Luke confirmed, and after a moment reappeared onscreen, sitting down with his guitar in his lap. “Mikey helped me learn to play this song. Because without him I'm useless.”

Michael snickered, waiting for Luke's cue to begin. He took a deep breath, and both of them began to play.

* * *

  
_Yeah, I want to tell everyone, that you are, you are my only one; Scream it at the top of my lungs_  
–

Luke adjusted the camera on its small tripod, so it captured both of them. He messed with the lens for a moment, then checked the screen, nodding once. He hit record and settled back, accidentally bumping into the neck of Michael's guitar. He ignored it, grinning. Michael smirked, strumming for a moment before Luke spoke.

"Hey guys," he said, lifting a hand to wave at the camera. "I got Michael with me again." At this point, after they'd been dating for a good six months, that was more likely to be the case than not. He paused to let Michael speak, but Michael only nodded and smiled a little. He still hated being on camera, but he did it for Luke.

"Ok so, today we're gonna do a song called 'Jinx' by DNCE. You know it, Michael, right?"

Michael looked over at Luke, bemused. "No. Should I?"

"Yes, you should. I told you to listen to them."

"You did?” Luke nodded. “Oh. I maybe listened. Once." He laughed. Thankfully, Luke laughed too.

"Ok—sorry guys, one second," Luke said to the camera, leaning forward and around it, tapping on his computer. A quick Google search brought up the tabs. "There. Tabs. Remember it now?” Michael looked over, then nodded. “Good. Now you can play it. Or do you want _me_ to play it for you?"

Michael huffed—he would like to practice once at least, but after the challenge from Luke, he wasn't going to ask for any time. "Fine. Are you gonna edit this out?" he asked, leaning in a bit and looking at what was on the screen.

"Probably not," Luke said, grinning into the camera as Michael studied the progression of the song, moving his left hand over the strings.

"Dick," Michael muttered, and Luke laughed. 

Michael quickly moved his fingers over the fretboard—the song was simple enough, he thought, and now that he was playing it, he remembered how it went.

“All right,” he said, playing the beginning, quietly in case he fucked up. Luke looked back at him, giving him a look—so Michael sighed, but before he had a chance to start over, Luke turned to the camera and spoke.

“Sorry, guys, I guess this is gonna be one of my—” he stuck out his tongue to indicate his :P emote uploads “—videos, all because of Michael.”

Michael stuck his tongue back out at Luke, but started over.

And...it went exactly as he expected it to: He fucked up a couple times because he wasn't familiar with the song. He silently berated himself each time his fingers held down the wrong string, but Luke never faltered once, only continuing to sing perfectly, so perfectly that Michael didn't even want to listen to his gut telling him to insist that they rerecord this.

Michael strummed the last chord of the song and Luke sang a final “I don't wanna jinx it,” then grinned at the camera. Michael couldn't see, but he winked, then turned in his chair, cupped Michael's chin with his hand to pull him closer, and kissed him right on the mouth. Michael didn't kiss him back—he was too surprised that it was happening, on camera no less, that when he parted his lips it was more like a dead fish than an attempt to deepen the kiss. But Luke wasn't interested in that—he pulled away, just barely so his lips were still on Michael's, and whispered “I love you.”

Michael knew it wouldn't be loud enough to be captured on the video that the camera was still recording—seriously, the freaking red light was boring a hole into the side of his face—but Michael heard him, and he felt like it was the only thing he'd ever heard. He breathed a short, quiet laugh against Luke's mouth, felt Luke smiling, felt his fingertips still on his jaw, and whispered “I love you” back to him. That wouldn't be audible either, but it would be clear to all the tens of thousands of Luke's subscribers just what they'd said to each other.

Luke pulled away from Michael at that, but his smug smile was replaced with one of genuine happiness. He turned to the camera, said a quick "Thanks, guys," and turned it off, spending a minute messing with it, before he glanced over at Michael, who had relaxed his posture a little but still hadn't put his guitar down or, well, actually moved. 

“Should I edit that out?” Luke asked, placing the camera on the desk. He looked over at Michael, whose expression softened when Luke met his eyes.

Michael shook his head. “No. You can upload it just like that.”

* * *

_But I'm whispering, I'm whispering, I'm whispering; 'Cause I don't wanna jinx it_

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [maybeillfindyouhere](http://maybeillfindyouhere.tumblr.com) • Come say hi!
> 
> _Title/lyrics/inspiration from "Jinx" by DNCE._
> 
> The songs they cover:  
> ["M+Ms" by blink-182](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZs88WWGDoo)  
> ["Seasons" by Good Charlotte](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFK8dllY-kQ)  
> ["Cemetery Drive" by My Chemical Romance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16zJJn_Kpoo)  
> ["Don't You Go" by All Time Low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDSiMwirXVE)  
> ["Jinx" by DNCE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I17pbWC8v9E)


End file.
